


Shut Up and Dance With Me

by wittyy_name



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cute, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Injury, Learning to Work Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, alternating povs, background subtle shallura, boys being dumb, dance au, dance competition, eventually they bang, everyone has their own style, everyone is a dances, let's go baby!, lots of fluff, non binary pidge, the works, there's art to go along, they're all in their 20's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:37:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 249,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyy_name/pseuds/wittyy_name
Summary: Lance and his friends have been regulars at the Altea Dance Studio for years. Not just for classes, but to hang out, practice, and spend time with good people who love dancing. Every year, they audition to be one of the few representing Altea at the regional dance competition. Lance always auditions solo, but this year he misses out on auditions and blows his chance to participate. And so does his self-proclaimed rival, Keith.Luckily, Shiro comes up with a brilliant plan: convince Lance and Keith to audition as a duo.With a little convincing, and a lot of effort, these two might just be able to pull it off and go to regionals... or they might crash and burn.





	1. Bad Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, back to his original statement: Oh. Hell. NO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We're back again! I'm Wittyy and the artist is Sora, and you may or may not have read our other fic [Operation: Time Out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7821451/chapters/17852119). 
> 
> Here's our dance au that we've been planning since we started O:TO. This one's gonna be a long one (those of you who know me from the homestuck fandom know what you're about to get into), and we're so excited to finally get this started. We made a tumblr blog for this fic to help us keep track of all the inspiration videos we've found for each character's dance style. You can find links to that and our personal blogs in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy, guys!

“I cannot _believe_ neither of you asked _me_ to be your partner. I thought we were _friends_.” Lance whines, dramatically leaning back and draping his body across Pidge, tilting them in the process until they’re pushed up against Hunk’s arm. Lance rests his head on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Lance, you hate dancing duos.” Pidge says flatly. “Would you even have said yes if we _had_ asked?”

Lance scrunches up his face, nose wrinkling as his lip curls. “That’s beside the point, Pidge.”

“My point is perfectly valid and shouldn’t be ignored.” They’re all sitting sat cross legged in the middle of Pidge and Hunk’s practice room, gathered in front of Pidge’s laptop. A youtube playlist is pulled up on the screen, and they’re idly scrolling through it.

“Your point sucks. Huuuunk,” He tilts his head back to look up at him, eyes wide and lips in a pout. “You would’ve danced with me, right, buddy?”

Hunk glances at him sideways, then looks back down to the computer screen. “Yeaaah, no. Sorry, Lance, we love you and all, but you’re a huge pain in the ass to work with.”

Lance sits up straight, turning to face them. He throws his arms up in the air. “I am not!”

“You are,” Pidge agrees. “You are literally the worst to choreograph dances with. We’ve tried before, Lance. Never again.”

Hunk nods. “Amen.”

Lance crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders slumping. He looks away with a huff. “Some friends you are.”

“You’re just going to audition for a solo spot anyway, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“So I don’t see the problem. Moving on, please.” They roll their eyes, somehow managing to get their whole body in on the motion.

“The point is I’m offended!”

“That’s great, buddy, but can you like… be quietly offended? We’ve only got this room for an hour and we need to decide on music for our audition.”

Lance sighs, slouching once again against Pidge. He rests his cheek atop their head, arms still crossed stubbornly over his chest. “Fiiiine.”

“What about this one?” Pidge asks.

Hunk scrunches up his face in thought. “Didn’t the third place winners do that one last year?”

Pidge hums. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Oh! Oh! What about—“

Pidge slaps Hunk’s hand away. “Don’t touch the screen.”

Hunk’s shoulders hunch as he rubs his hand. “Hey, I need that hand if you wanna dance with me!”

Pidge rolls their eyes again, clicking another song on the list. “Shiro doesn’t.”

“Okay, touché… Still, I’d rather keep both my hands.”

“Then don’t touch my screen. "

"Now dancing without a leg, _that_ would be difficult." Lance says.

Pidge ignores him. "What about this one?”

“Didn’t you guys do that one two years ago?” Lance asks.

They exchange a look.

“Did we?”

“I don’t really remember?”

Lance snorts. “You did. You didn’t win anything, but you definitely did. Hunk spun so fast he nearly hurled on stage.”

“Alright, so not that one.”

“What about a mix of these two? They kinda have a nice vibe and we could like, use both of our styles, I think.”

“Uuuuugh, not _this_ song.” Lance whines, reaching forward to click on the next button. Pidge promptly slaps his hand, and he yanks it back against his chest. Sitting up straight, he cradles it against his chest, glaring down at Pidge. “Jesus, are you sure those are _hands_? Aren’t hands supposed to be, I don’t know, _soft_ or something?”

Pidge looks up at him, giving him that exasperated look he knows so well. “Lance, not everyone uses as much moisturizer and lotion as you do.”

“Yeah, but your hands are like, hard and _sharp_.”

“I _know_ , right?” Hunk meets his eyes over Pidge’s head, holding up his own hand and making a jabbing motion. “And how are they that _fast_?”

Lance leans away from Pidge, eyes narrowing. “Are you some kind of robot?”

“If it’ll keep you from touching my stuff, believe what you want.” They gesture back to their computer. “So why not _this_ song?”

“Uh, maybe because I got dumped on _Valentines Day_?”

“And what does that have to do with this song?”

“It was playing on the radio in the coffee shop!”

Pidge breathes deeply, crossing one arm over their chest and using the other hand to pinch the bridge of their nose. “You seriously don’t want us to use this song, which is, might I add, a _good_ song—“

“That works very good with our styles.”

“—Thank you, Hunk. Because a girl dumped you while it was playing?”

“Yes! It was _Valentine’s Day_ , Pidge! Who _does_ that?!”

“How long had you been dating?”

“Well, that was, um, our first date, but still— PIdge, stop laughing! This isn’t funny!”

Pidge uses their hand to stifle their laugh, but they can’t quite hide their smile. “Lance, if we vetoed every song that was playing when you had a bad date experience, we’d be limited to old jazz and nursery rhymes.”

“Wow, okay, first of all: rude?” He holds up one finger, then adds a second. “Second of all, there was this one time—“

“Oh my _god_.” Pidge rolls their eyes so dramatically that they tilt over and fall against Hunk. They slap their hands over their face before leaning their head back, gazing up at Hunk through their fingers. “Hunk, our child is pathetic. Where did we go wrong?”

“Hey!” Lance snaps. “Must I repeat: _rude_?”

Hunk pats Pidge’s head, shaking his own. “There, there, Pidge. We did our best. It’s not our fault he’s a little pathetic.”

“A little?”

“Okay, maybe a lot.”

“ _Wow_ , Hunk!”

Hunk grins at him over Pidge’s head for a second before it falls. “Seriously, though, dude. You don’t really have veto power over our setlist.”

“Um, like hell, I don’t! I’m gonna have to suffer through whatever songs you pick for _months_. I deserve to have a veto vote.”

Pidge lets their hands slip further down their face. Their eyes are crinkled at the edges by a smirk. “So does that mean we get to veto _your_ setlist?”

Lance feels his face drop, and he looks away, shoulders slumping. “Point taken.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t you have your own practice to do, anyway?” Hunk asks, one eyebrow raised.

Lance sits up straight, eyes widening. “Shit, you’re right.” His arms drop to his sides as he pats his pockets for his phone. “What time is it?”

Pidge glances at their computer screen. “A couple minutes past one.”

“Well, then!” Lance pushes himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back slightly. “I have a date with a practice room.” He takes one step back, placing his right foot behind his left, and bows deeply, gesturing to the side with his arms. “Later, nerds.” He says, giving them a mock salute and wink as he straightens and grabs his bag, spinning on his heel and striding off toward the door.

“You may not have given us veto powers, but if you choose Brittany Spears again, I’m terminating our friendship!” Pidge calls out behind him.

Lance flips them off over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

His own practice room is on the floor above. Good old room 4C. The first time he had gotten the room, it had been out of spite.

When they had first started getting into competitions, they had started signing up for separate practices rooms. Pidge and Hunk in one, Lance in another. Of course they had signed up for rooms next to each other. Why _wouldn’t_ they? They were bffs! Bros for life! But then Pidge had started making fun of Lance’s music selection, so of course he started playing his music just a little _extra_ loud, so Pidge could _really_ appreciate it in the next room. And, well… the feud had gotten a little out of hand.

Once Pidge and Hunk even tried to mess with the speakers in Lance’s room, so in retaliation, Lance had sung Justin Bieber’s _Baby_ at the top of his lungs until they conceded and fixed the speakers. It had taken ten minutes.

After that, Pidge and Hunk started choosing a room, specifically room 3C, that was always booked on both sides. Lance, rightfully seeing this as a challenge, chose good old room 4C, so he could not only blast his music, but also stop on the floor above them.

This only lasted a couple of weeks before they all grew tired of it, but by then Lance was already attached to that room. It’s _his_ room. Well, yeah, other people use it, too. But Lance _always_ signs up for that room. He’s a creature of habit, alright? He likes to have a familiar space to practice in. Even if the auxiliary cable in that room is a little buggy, and sometimes the speakers crackle when they get too loud, and there’s a couple warped floorboards that he sometimes trips on, and one of the mirrors is smudged to hell. The room has character.

As he climbs the stairs, he pulls out his phone, idly flipping through his playlists. He hasn’t really decided on a setlist for this year, let alone an audition song. He usually doesn’t ahead of time. He kinda just lets his music go through on shuffle until something really speaks to him. Until it feels _right_.

The fourth floor is pretty much deserted when he gets there. It’s the middle of the day, and none of the actual dance lessons start until late afternoon, when most schools are out. The only people who are around at this time of day are people like him (those who don’t go to school and don’t have a set nine to five job) and people like Pidge and Hunk (college students with oddly timed classes). It’s a great time to practice, to be honest. No kids running around, the whole fourth floor to himself, peace and—

Why does he hear music?

And not the muffled dull beats that can usually be heard from downstairs or upstairs. This is like… loud, clear music. Music coming from _this_ floor. Lance looks up, scanning the line of doors. They’re all closed except for one. One that’s cracked. One that has music and light spilling from it. Who the hell even practices on the forth floor? There isn’t enough people around at this time of day to warrant anyone besides him coming all the way up here. The second and third floor have _plenty_ of practice rooms to choose from.

And is that… is that room _4C?_

Oh. Hell. _NO_.

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Lance stomps over to the room. Ugh, what is even playing? Some kinda pop, yeah, whatever, most of them danced to pop. But this is like… not even top 40’s. Lance isn’t sure he’s even _heard_ this song before. And he isn’t about to sit around to listen to it. He has business to attend to. And by business, he means barging in on the asshole who’s stolen his room.

He puts a hand on the door, intent on shoving it open, but right as he does, the music changes. He may not know the song, but he knows enough to realize that the sudden and abrupt stop isn’t part of it. He hesitates at the sudden stop, and a new song starts up. This one he recognizes: Bastille’s _Pompeii_.

Huh, so maybe the asshole’s music isn’t _all_ bad.

He considers his curiosity piqued.

As the opening vocals start, Lance slowly pushes the door open just a little wider, peeking through the crack.

Alright, so it’s a dude. A dude wearing tight black pants, a well fitting black shirt, and a long sleeved red flannel tied around his waist. He’s just finished putting his dark hair up in a small ponytail, exposing a pale, slender neck. And he’s wearing black, fingerless gloves. A little different, but hey, it doesn’t look bad. Lance can dig it.

Okay, so the asshole is hot as fuck. At least from behind. Maaaaaybe Lance can forgive him for taking his room. Maybe. Hell, maybe they can share the room?

The guy bounces on the balls of his feet for several beats, and then as soon as the lyrics start, he’s in motion. Quick to jerk his body into position, one foot steps to the side, knee bent, corresponding arm lifting and angling. Then there’s a slow move, arm rising and crossing his body, feet twisting as his weight turns to the other foot. Hand to his chest, other arm extended as his feet come together.

The way he moves is… beautiful. Perfectly timed to the song, he alternates between quick jerks and slow, graceful movements, moving his arms and legs with such extreme precision before letting them flow smoothly with the song’s lyrics.

The way he can quickly shift his body, throwing it into a new position and stopping with pinpoint precision as if hitting a mold for that exact pose, reminds him a lot of Pidge’s preferred style. But the way his limbs roll gracefully after, shifting and expressing, is similar to Allura. It was an amazing combination.

Even as the beat picks up and everything moves quickly, there’re still those moments where he suddenly stops and flows before his limbs are once again quick and jagged. There’s even a jump in there and is it even possible to jump in slow motion like that? Or maybe that’s just Lance’s perception…

He’s kind of in a daze, completely transfixed by this guy’s dancing. It’s so coordinated, so calculated, and yet there’s a beauty in the way he knows and trusts his body to move just as he wants it to.

Then the guy turns, and Lance catches sight of his face, and he nearly chokes— fuck, it’s _Keith?!_ As in _Keith Kogane?!_

He may have made a strangled sound, but if he did, it was drowned out by the music.

Alright, back to his original statement: Oh. Hell. _NO_.

Keith doesn’t seem to have noticed Lance. Good, he wants the element of surprise.

Just as the song reaches the chorus, Lance pulls the door shut slightly, before stepping back and kicking it open. Aw yes, dramatic flair, Lance McClain style.

He steps into the room, reveling in the way Keith’s movements stutter, nearly falling over as he loses his balance for a second. Then he recovers and whips around to stare at Lance, eyes wide and mouth agape. Yeah, it feels good to have the upper hand.

“You!” Lance snaps, throwing up an arm to point at him. “You’re in _my_ practice room!”

Keith stares at him for a moment longer before his mouth snaps shut and he straightens, brow furrowing.

Lance blames the ponytail. The stupid, stupid ponytail that had hidden the guy’s signature mullet. If he had seen _that_ he would have known right away and wouldn’t have wasted time oogling him. He isn’t worth his oogles.

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Lance puts both hands on his hips, cocking them to the side as he leans forward slightly. He raises an eyebrow. “Uhh, I’m talking about _you_ being in _my_ practice room? Hello? Is all that mullet getting in the way of your hearing?”

Keith’s chin tilts down a fraction, and his arms cross over his chest. He looks Lance up and down, and his back straightens under Keith’s scrutinizing gaze. His eyes hover on his t-shirt for a fraction of a second before moving on to stare at the colorful bracelets on his wrists. He feels warmth start to crawl up his neck, and he squashes down the strange mix of embarrassment and offense.

His ‘Getting Bi’ shirt is one of his favorites, okay? A little cheesy, yeah, but he loves it. Pidge had gotten it for him as a joke. He had gotten Pidge one that says ’Non-Binary Day’ with the N and B larger and more accented. And the bracelets had been made my his siblings and niblings, and he will literally fight Keith if he says anything about them.

He does his best not to fidget. Finally, Keith’s eyes return to his face. “Who _are_ you?”

Lance’s jaw drops. Is he… is he serious? “Who am I? Uhh, the name’s _Lance?_ ” Keith blinks, staring at him blankly. Lance tries again. “We were in a dance class together last year? I’m like… _always_ hanging around this place? I practically _live_ here, come on!”

He blinks again, and something seems to click. “Oh, wait, I remember you. You auditioned for one of the regional spots last year.”

Lance is, honestly, a little relieved. He gestures at Keith with one hand, the other one firmly placed on his cocked hip. “Yes! We were like rivals! You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck.”

“I didn’t think you got one of the spots?” There’s some annoyance in his voice, which has been steadily growing since recovering from his surprise. Under _normal_ circumstances, Lance would say he can’t really blame him. But because this is _Keith_ , Lance can and will totally blame him. He deserved to be interrupted! He’s in Lance’s room! Lance signed up for it and everything! Not to mention he is severely disrespecting him right now.

Lance frowns, trying his best to keep it from turning into a pout as he glares at Keith. “Yeah, well I got in, thanks to you dropping out.”

That seems to almost surprise him. He raises one curious eyebrow. “Did you win?”

“Yes! I did… sort of.” Lance fidgets, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his chin. He refuses to be the first to look away from this glare fest. “I got third place.” Okay, so not the most impressive, and he didn’t get to go to nationals, but still, he won _something_ and that has to count, right?

“Well, congratulations.” Keith says dryly, and it grates on Lance’s nerves.

He clenches his teeth, hands curling into tight fists. “Thanks.” He says, voice dripping in bitter sarcasm. He steps to the side, further into the room, and half bows, gesturing widely to the door. “Now if you don’t _mind_ , this is _my_ practice room, and I gotta start getting ready for auditions.”

There goes Keith’s eyebrow again, raising up to disappear beneath his bangs. “This isn’t your practice room.”

“Yes, it is!” Lance nearly shouts in his agitation. Straightening, he stomps over to where Keith is standing. He stops right in front of him and jabs at his chest with one finger. “Listen, buddy. This is _my_ practice room. I _always_ sign up for this room. Hell, they should put a big sign on the door that says ‘Lance’s room, no mullets allowed’.”

Keith’s brows furrow and he slaps Lance’s hand away. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is—“

Lance throws his arms up in the air. “My problem is you!”

“—but _I_ signed up for this room. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to practice _alone_.”

“I _do_ mind, because as I’ve said several times now, this is _my_ room.”

Keith groans, putting a hand to his face and shaking his head before it slides off to hang at his side. He tilts his head slightly, still glaring at Lance from under furrowed brows. “Look, my name is even on the schedule outside the door. If you would just—“

“I don’t need to look!” Lance snaps, gesturing behind him to the door. “The list is probably wrong. There’s been some kind of mix up. Now sorry to inconvenience you, but get out.”

Keith doesn’t move. “Why can’t you just go to one of the other rooms? There’s _literally_ ten rooms on this floor and _no one_ is ever here at this time.”

Lance sputters, putting a hand to his chest. “Why can’t I— alright, buddy, let me explain to you a thing.” He spins on his heel and throws his arms up, gesturing to the whole room. “This here room and I, we’ve got history. She and I go waaaay back.”

“She?”

“Shush!” Lance snaps, sending a glare over his shoulder. Is it just him… or does Keith look a little amused? No, he must be seeing things. Keith’s sour expression just has layers upon layers. “Anyway, where was I?”

“History.”

“Ah yes, we have _history_. A history rooted in friendship and determination. Our first meeting was by chance, but the bond we formed was special, and now she is my home and I am hers.”

“Are you always like this?”

Lance ignores him, and instead starts off in a wide circle, hands on his hips as his gaze sweeps around the room. “Sure, she’s not the prettiest thing to look at, and sometimes it gets too hot up here, but she’s got _character_. Take, for instance, these floor boards.” He comes to a stop where he knows the squeaky floorboards are, but when he steps on them, there’s no sound. He frowns slightly. “They must not be feeling squeaky today.” He mumbles, before turning and dramatically pointing. “Or those warped—“ He stops when he realizes that the spot he pointed at was entirely flat. “Or the smudges on the—“ He snaps his head up, but the mirror panel, the one that’s been scratched and smudged and cracked since he started coming here, is in fact whole and clean and pristine.

His frown deepens as he stands up straight, both hands hanging at his sides. “Huh,” He says, mostly to himself. His eyes wander the room. Now that he’s looking at it… Wasn’t there a different poster on the walls in his room? And he always made sure the chairs were stacked in a different corner…

 _Pompeii_ ends and another song starts up in it’s place, all the while Lance is silent, and Keith is staring at him.

Scratching the back of his neck with one hand, Lance avoids making eye contact. “I don’t suppose you had any trouble with the auxiliary cable?”

He glances sideways in time to see Keith shake his head once. “Nope.”

“Huh,” Lance repeats, cause that’s all he can really think to say as his stomach drops. He may… have made a mistake. Maybe. “What room is this?”

“4D.”

Yup, okay, so he’s definitely made a mistake. And totally made an ass out of himself in the process. But is he going to own up to it? Nope. No way in hell.

“Alriiiight.” He says slowly, lacing his hands behind his head. “Since you’ve already started your practice, and I’m such a good guy, I’m gonna let you keep this room. I’ll just… go find another one.” He kicks out his foot, letting his weight fall slowly before he’s walking quickly toward the door. He really hopes he turned away before Keith could see the flush creeping up his face.

Keith speaks up as he reaches the door, and this time there is _definitely_ amusement in his smug ass voice. “You’re in the wrong room, aren’t you?”

“No!” Lance snaps, grabbing the doorknob on his way out. He doesn’t turn around as he pulls the door shut behind him a little harder than necessary.

He leans against the door next to Keith’s room, trying to steady his breath and suppress some of the adrenaline that spiked through his system. Glancing sideways, he sees that the door does, in fact, say 4D. Very clearly. In giant, chipped, gold paint. God _fuck_ why didn’t he see that _before_ he made an ass of himself? Well if Keith didn’t remember him before, he’s sure going to remember him _now_. But it isn’t at all how Lance wants to be remembered. Maybe as cool, handsome, charming, and a devilishly good dancer. Definitely not as an idiot who barged into his practice room thinking it was his own.

He hears the music pause before switching back to _Pompeii_ , and in that silence, he swears he can hear soft laughter.

God, what an _ass_.

Pushing off the wall, Lance stomps to his own practice room. The _actual_ room 4C. Which is, unfortunately, only one room over. It was an easy mistake, alright?

He slams the door shut with perhaps a little too much force. He casts a glare at the mirrored wall, through which he can hear _Pompeii_ still playing. For just a moment, his mind is filled with the memory of Keith dancing, how smooth and precise his movements were, how hypnotizing… but then the moment is gone and Lance is throwing his bag on the floor before stomping across to the auxiliary cable.

He jams it into his phone before pulling up his playlist once again. He hits it on shuffle and, not surprisingly, nothing but a loud crackle comes out of the speakers. He sets his phone down on the table, turning it just so, and draping the cable gently in just the right way. And suddenly the smooth opening lyrics to _Glad You Came_ comes in clear, followed by the opening beat. Nodding his head in time, body already bouncing along, he digs his bluetooth remote from his pocket. Honestly, the best twenty bucks he’s ever spent.

Turning up the volume to effectively drown out, and maybe overpower, the music next door, Lance shuffle steps his way out to the middle of the floor, turning on his heel and giving himself a spin, arms up. He stops, facing the mirror, and flashes himself a bright smile. Then the lyrics pick up and he’s moving.

His eyes drift closed and he moves, arms and legs, his whole body. Each step, each gesture, each roll of his hips is in time with the music. Nothing is precise and calculated like Pidge’s dancing. It’s not all jarring big movements like Hunk’s, or smooth and elaborate like Shiro and Allura’s. Hell, it’s not even as _energetic_ as Coran’s. But it’s _real_. Lance has always let the music just flow through him, and his body moves on it’s own. Sure, he learns moves and styles, but when it comes right down to it, he just does what feels _right_.

He bounces on the ball of one foot, his other foot shifting him around in a circle with small, quick steps. His arms are held out wide and angled as he spins. Then he points the remote at his phone and switches to the next song. It only lasted less than a minute.

He throws back his head and laughs as _Push It_ starts playing. His dance style changes immediately to match. That classic lasts only thirty seconds before he’s already switching to the next.

In the pause between songs, he can hear that _Pompeii_ has ended in the other room and a new song is playing. One he doesn’t recognize. But it’s soon drowned out by Ke$ha. He can’t help himself. He sings along to _TiK ToK_ as his feet shuffle across the floor and he gestures to himself in the mirror.

That song lasts much longer. Nearly a whole minute before he’s switching to the next one. _Club Can’t Handle Me_. His movements get more smooth, more flowing, but he still retains a jump in his step.

And this is how it goes. This is Lance’s beloved process. It drives Pidge up a wall, and they refuse to be in the same room as Lance when he does it. Hell, he’s mildly surprised they’re not texting him to stop it right now. They can no doubt hear him in the room below. When looking for the perfect song to choose to dance to, everyone has to do a little shuffling. But while Pidge does it at their computer, actually looking through their songs, Lance does it like this. He sets his whole library to shuffle and actually feels out each song, hitting the next button on his bluetooth remote.

Some songs last nearly a minute, and some last only five seconds. Most average out at around thirty. He hasn’t found anything yet, and he’s not sure what he’s looking for. But when he knows, he’ll know. He trusts his instincts. It’s worked for him so far.

He goes through songs decades old and new hits, everything and anything he’s got on his phone. He loses track of time and how many songs he goes through. Five minutes? Ten? Thirty?

He’s in the middle of _Bulletproof_ , and singing along to it of course, when he hears a banging. He stops in the middle of spinning on his heel, nearly toppling over. He glares at the floor, expecting to hear Pidge’s shout. What he hears, however, is another banging on the wall and Keith’s voice.

“Just pick a song already!”

Lance’s head whips up to stare at the mirrored wall. His eyes narrow at his own reflection. “It’s my process!” He shouts, clicking the button. Immediately whistling starts up from _Moves Like Jagger._

“Your process sucks!”

“I can’t hear you!” He yells back, whistling along with the tune as he clasps his hands behind his back and struts around with stutter steps.

“Then turn your music down!”

Lance moves around the room, sliding dramatically and spinning in wide, slow arcs that get his whole body into it. He sings the first few lines before responding. “No can do, mullet boy! Then I’d have to listen to your terrible music taste, and I’m not about that life.”

“How do you think I feel? You’re forcing me to listen to your voice!”

Lance sputters, tripping over his feet as he stomps over to the mirror. “ _Excuse!_ My voice is a _blessing!_ ” He shouts, coming to stand right in front of the mirror and glaring up at the wall.

“More like a curse.” His voice isn’t a shout, but it’s definitely loud enough to be heard through the wall.

Lance bristles. “You mean like your _mullet_?”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem? Well, first of all, you trick me into thinking you had my room!” He didn’t but… you know, semantics. “And secondly, you’re interrupting my dance process!”

And thirdly, he’s still hella embarrassed after barging in on Keith and making a scene. Not to mention checking him out. _Ugh_. He can feel his face heating up just thinking about it. He’s never going to live this down. He has to find a way to impress Keith with his dancing or he’ll forever be remembered as the idiot who barged in on him.

He isn’t going to think too hard about _why_ he’s concerned about how Keith remembers him. Maybe because Keith apparently didn’t before and _Lance_ sure as hell remembers _him_ , so… yeah, he’s a little offended.

“And we’re back to the whole your process sucks point.”

Lance holds out a hand, tapping the next button. This song isn’t doing it for him anymore. The sound of computerized cymbals and a familiar beat come over his speakers. He grins to himself, his bad mood already starting to subside. Oh yes, nothing a little T-Swift can’t help him with.

“ _I stay out too late,_ ” He sings, stepping away from the mirror with exaggerated movements, snapping his fingers low. “ _Got nothing in my brain.”_

He hears a loud, bark of a laugh from the other room. “I’ll say!”

Lance’s head jerks around to glare at the wall, then sticks his nose up in the air and continues his jazz into the center of the room, singing perhaps just a fraction louder. “That’s what people say, mm mm, that’s what people say.”

He continues to move, closing his eyes and doing his best to block out all the noise from the other room. It isn’t quite working. This song doesn’t have enough back volume and he can clearly hear the muffled sound of Keith’s music. He vaguely recognizes it as a Panic! at the Disco song. As his own song reaches the chorus, he holds out the remote, turning up the volume.

And while he’s at it, he hits the next button.

Through the opening beats of _Danza Kuduro_ , he can hear the volume of Keith’s music rising, and it’s disrupting his flow. Instinctually, Lance raises his own volume to max, singing along in Spanish and rolling his hips as the music blasts from his speakers. But he just hears Keith’s volume rise to match his.

Oh, so _that’s_ how they’re going to play it. Alright, Lance can dig it. He’s got a _lot_ of experience in this department.

In retaliation, lance hits the next button, counts to ten, and hits it again. Rinse and repeat. The whole time he doesn’t stop moving. The change in rhythms are drastic, clashing, and he barely has time to adjust before he’s changing it. But it’s all worth it because he’s savoring the idea of annoying Keith. So he dances with noncommittal moves, bouncing on the balls of his feet, kicking out his legs, rotating his arms, spinning on his heel before sliding or hopping to the side, rolling his hips.

He goes through around twenty songs like this before he hears the shout from the other room.

“You know, if you want to audition for regionals, you actually need to _pick_ a song instead of shuffling through them every five seconds.”

“Excuse you, I’m waiting TEN seconds.” He should know. He’s counting. Through the particularly soft opening to the song he stopped on, he can hear familiar guitar rifts coming through the wall, along with a very distinct voice. “How about _you_ pick a song from this _century!_ ” He’s going to ignore the fact that _Dancing With Myself_ is actually kind of fitting. He’s also going to ignore the fact that he’s a fan.

“Billy Idol is timeless!” Keith argues. Lance can _hear_ the irritation in his voice, and he’s reveling in it. He grins, wondering what Keith looks like when that cocky, cool attitude is shattered. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen him express anything besides indifference and boredom… and of course a little annoyance when he was in his room earlier. “Besides, _you_ were just playing Oingo Boingo a minute ago and that is _definitely_ not from this century!”

Lance’s grin is gone. “ _Dead Man’s Party_ is a good song with a good beat!” He’s not going to point out that he first heard it on Dance Dance Revolution, and that he can get a perfect score every time. He somehow doesn’t think that’ll impress Keith.

Keith’s song ends just as Lance is hitting the next button again, and suddenly he’s bombarded by a surround sound of _Shut Up and Dance_. They’re off by a second or two, but it’s very clear that it’s the same song. Lance nearly drops his remote in his haste to change the song. He will _NOT_ admit he has the same taste in music as Keith. He feels his face burning and is extremely grateful that Keith can’t see him right now.

Keith’s song changes just moments later, and he hears the opening clapping and gentle strumming of _On Top of the World_ before it’s drowned out by his own speakers blaring Lady Gaga.

He’s shifting his hips and rolling his body into some swift leg movements, arms moving along, when his music cuts out.

And suddenly he’s thrown into silence.

He freezes, eyes darting around. His ears are ringing, but that’s all he can hear. There’s some music playing distantly somewhere in the building, but it’s definitely not Keith. His room is eerily silent, too.

Then he hears Pidge’s shout through the floorboards, loud and annoyed. “You’re both officially cut off!”

His eyes snap down as his hands go to his hips. He stomps on the floor. “Pidge, what the _hell?!_ ”

“We’re tired of listening to your cock fight! _Some_ of us are trying to be productive!” Their voice is still muffled through the floor, but it comes in clear.

“Huuuunk!” Lance draws out the name in a long, low whine.

“Sorry, man, but it was my idea.” He doesn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“How am I suppose to practice now?!” Lance stomps again, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Suck it up and use your headphones!” Comes Pidge’s reply.

Lance groans loudly, hoping it’ll carry through the floor. “This is all Keith’s fault!”

“Hey!” Keith snaps through the wall.

Pidge doesn’t reply, and instead he hears the muffled music from below start up. It’s much, much softer than the volume he and Keith had been using. Blowing all his air out in a long huff, Lance stomps over to where his iPhone is, making sure to be extra loud with every step. He rips the auxiliary cable form his phone and goes to his bag, pulling out his headphones. Plugging them in, he settles the headphones over his ears and starts up his music once again.

He winces as the music blasts a little too loudly and immediately turns it down. Sighing, he straightens and lets his body move once again to the beat. At least this way he can’t hear Keith’s stupid music or his stupid voice. No distractions. Just him and his music. No more thinking about Flannel McMullet.

Or his stupid ponytail.

Or the stupid way his body moves.

Or his stupid ass in those jeans.

Yeah, none of that.

As it turns out, Lance doesn’t get much done with the rest of his time. With Keith’s interruption, and Pidge and Hunk’s interruption, he’s finding it hard to really get back into it. Whenever he feels particularly grumpy and resentful, he makes sure to step extra hard so his friends down below can hear.

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he glances down to see a text from Pidge telling him that his hour is up and if he doesn’t get downstairs in the next five minutes, they’re leaving without him. Glancing at the time, he realizes he’s technically gone over his practice time by seven minutes. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be anyone sighed up right after him. Turning his music down to a more normal volume, he gathers his stuff and heads out.

While he’s nodding his head along to _Dancing Queen_ , he steps wide over the threshold, dragging his other foot along in a smooth slide as they sing, _”You can jiiiive.”_ It’s not until he hears another door shut that he glances up and realizes that Keith is staring at him.

He’s still got that red flannel wrapped around his waist instead of putting it in his bag like a normal person. And Lance will _not_ admit that it’s a good look for him. He also totally doesn’t notice how Keith’s black shirt clings to him with sweat, or how some of his bangs are stuck to his forehead and cheeks. His backpack is thrown over one shoulder, one hand on the strap, and he’s got a set of red headphones resting around his neck. He’s staring at Lance with one eyebrow raised, and he swears he sees an amused tilt to his lips.

Lance scowls, pulling his own headphones down to rest around his neck. “What?”

Keith shakes his head, letting go of the door to his room and starting off down the hall. “Nothing.” As he passes Lance, he shoves his shoulder with his own.

Lance stumbles back a step, arms going straight down at his sides and hands curled into fists as he shouts, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Keith is still walking away, but he turns to glance over his shoulder, pulling down his bottom eyelid with a middle finger as he sticks out his tongue. “Watch what room you’re entering next time.”

Lance bristles, his lips pursing into a scowl as he fights down the blush that’s creeping up his neck. But Keith isn’t looking at him anymore. He grumbles something unintelligible and partially in spanish as he shoves his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders, and follows after him, dragging his feet. It’s not like he _wants_ to follow him. They’re just headed in the same direction.

He’s expecting Keith to stop in front of the elevator at the end of the hall, but instead he turns right toward the stairs. Now Lance normally takes the stairs, too. But for a moment he considers taking the elevator just to get away from Keith. That thought is quickly dashed however. There’s not way in hell he’s going to let Keith think he’s lazy. They’re at a _dance_ studio for crying out loud. If they can’t walk a couple flights of stairs, they might as well leave.

So he follows Keith into the stairwell. Keith gets to the landing halfway halfway down to the third floor, and as he rounds it, he glanced up and makes eye contact with Lance. Lance freezes for just a moment, hesitating with a foot hovering above the next step. Then the moment has passed and Keith is looking away, continuing down the stairs.

 _Why_ does he feel so offended by that? It was probably nothing, but it feels like a brush off. He’s already embarrassed himself in front of this guy, and now he’s acting all indifferent and holier than thou, and quite frankly, it rubs him the wrong way.

Maybe he’s irrational. He probably is. But at the same time, fuck this guy.

He takes only one more step before the song coming from his headphones changes, and once again, T-Swift has got his back. _Bad Blood_ starts playing, and the volume is just loud enough for him to hear it. His lips curve into a slow smirk, and he’s hopping down the stairs at a quick pace before he fully realizes what he’s doing.

It doesn’t take long before he passes Keith, shoving his shoulder with his own as he skips down the stairs. When he turns back to look, Keith’s brows are furrowed, lips slack in surprise. Lance cocks his head to the side, grins, and gives him a mock salute before continuing down the stairs.

It only takes Keith a couple seconds to catch up. Lance can hear his footsteps speed up behind him and immediately his heart rate picks up to match. The next thing he knows, they’re practically racing down the stairwell. He starts skipping down the steps two at a time, pulling ahead, but Keith overtakes him when they get to a landing and he grabs the corner railing, swinging his body around and bypassing the landing entirely as he jumps to the next set of stairs. Lance jumps the last four steps to the next landing, pushes off the wall, and practically flies down the steps.

As they round the last landing to the final stretch of stairs, Lance glances out of the corner of his eye to see Keith doing the same. He doesn’t have time to think about what he sees there because he’s jumping the last stretch, Keith in the air a second behind him.

His feet land a second before Keith’s.

“Aha!” He says, loud and breathless, straightening and throwing his hairs up in victory. “I win!”

Keith hunched over at his side, hands on his knees as he panted. “We weren’t… racing…” He says between breaths.

“Oh yeah?” Lance crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his hips to the side as he grins smugly down at him. “Then why were you sprinting after me?”

Keith tilts his head to glare up at him through the hair that was falling in front of his face. Is it just him, or is it suddenly very hot in this stairwell? Keith sighs and straightens, adjusting the backpack strap on his shoulder. “Whatever.” He says, rolling his shoulders before walking away, leaving Lance alone in the stairwell.

Lance isn’t sure what possess him to move, but suddenly he’s rushing out of the stairwell after him. “Hey!” He shouts, one hand on the doorframe. Keith is already several feet away and headed down the hall toward the door that leads to the back parking lot. He stops and turns, one eyebrow raised in silent question. He’s not frowning anymore, but he’s by no means smiling. Did he always look that sour? “You auditioning for regionals again this year?” He blurts out before he can lose his nerve.

Keith’s second eyebrow went up as well. He blinks, and Lance squirms in the silence. What? It was a totally innocent question. It’s not like it was _hard_. Keith seems to think it is though. His brows suddenly furrow and he purses his lips, looking off to the side. “I, uh… yes?”

“Good!” His eyes snap back to Lance, and Lance leans against the doorframe, other hand going to his hip as he grins. “Cause I’m gonna prove to you that I can kick your ass.”

“If you can manage to settle on a song before then.” Keith deadpans, but Lance swears he can see the guy’s lips twitching.

Lance puts a hand to his chest in, mostly, mock offense, gasping loudly for good measure. “Oh, it is _on_ , mullet!”

Keith rolls his eyes, but as he’s turning away, Lance can definitely see his lips tilting up into a small smile. Lance watches him leave, lips quirked up into a wide grin, before going to find Pidge and Hunk.

It doesn’t take long for them to get the story out of him, and they spend the entire drive home laughing at Lance while he mumbles something about finding new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtWQPHTMrQE) the dance that Keith was doing
> 
> And Sora's gone ahead and drawn all the characters for this fic over here!
> 
> To think, this whole fic idea started cause Sora liked the aesthetic image of Keith dancing alone in that exact outfit while Lance was watching. Now we have a whole fic. wtf man  
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/151078874944/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-has-officially-begun-it)  
>    
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [The Artist's Tumblr](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	2. Stop, Wait a Minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a short silent before Shiro speaks. “Is he alright?” 
> 
> “I have been informed that no, he is not alright, he’s wallowing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I have a tendency to write long chapters? Cause I do. I always tell people my writing style can be described in three words: longer than expected. Sora tells me this isn't a bad thing, but she's a whore for my fics.
> 
> Speaking of Sora, she absolutely out DID herself with the art for this chapter. I'm just constantly blown away by her art and how she can perfectly capture the moments that I describe.
> 
> Anyway, enough about us, link are in the end notes, enjoy the chapter!

Keith isn’t even sure why he’s here.

They’re in one of the larger dance rooms on the first floor, and it’s crowded as hell. People of all ages: kids, teenagers, people well into their twenties. They’re mostly grouped up in their own ages, talking with friends, bouncing excitedly, stretching. Keith leans up against the wall, as far away from the others as he can get. His arms are crossed over his chest as his eyes idly pass over the room. His headphones are around his neck and he can hear his music playing softly under the general din of conversation in the room.

He barely recognizes anyone here. He’s been coming here for a couple of years, but he doesn’t really interact with anyone and he’s only take a couple of classes. He learned a lot from those classes, but he hated having to go at the whole class’s pace. He hated having to deal with the other students. He hated how the instructors always used him as the ‘example’ because he picked up the moves faster than others. He hated how the others looked at him.

It isn’t like he doesn’t _want_ to make friends. But when he’s learning a new dance, he gets so concentrated, so into it. He blocks a lot out. Shiro’s told him on several occasions that he doesn’t exactly look easy to approach when he’s like that.

It didn’t take long for Keith to learn that he prefers independent study. He can learn dances at his own pace, repeat it as many times as he needs to for his movements and muscle memory to be perfect. He doesn’t have to worry about people staring at him. He doesn’t have to worry about fucking up. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him until he’s confident he can do it. No one to see him stumble. No one to distract him. No one to see him get frustrated. It’s a learning environment he prefers.

This, however, is definitely _not_ an environment he prefers. It’s too loud. There’s too many people. They’re all one hundred percent more into this than he is. He doesn’t even _like_ dance competitions. Why is he even here?

Lance.

Lance is the reason he’s here. Lance and his stupid competitive streak. Lance and his innate ability to get under Keith’s skin. Lance and his cocky grin that makes a strange heat rise in Keith’s chest. A heat that drives him to do anything, _anything_ , to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

He isn’t even sure how he got himself into this situation.

Last year he had tried this whole dance competition thing. He had gotten one of the slots to go to regionals. He had practiced and learned his routine. But when it came right down to it, he just didn’t want to go. He doesn’t like dancing in front of crowds. He’s never been into it. He only auditioned because Shiro convinced him to. He had promised he would try, and he did. Then he had dropped out. And apparently Lance had gotten his spot.

It’s not like he doesn’t remember Lance. He does when he thinks about it. He remembers his loud personality and abrasive voice, his cocky attitude and unrefined dance style. He didn’t pay attention to much when he took dance classes, being so focused on himself and learning the moves with the least amount of struggle possible. But Lance… Lance had made himself known. He had gotten in Keith’s face on several occasions, had caught his eye in the mirror, had made comments about how Keith was the teacher’s pet. Keith had decidedly ignored him. At the time, he had no idea that the annoying Latino boy would waltz back into his life.

He didn’t really pay attention to anyone during auditions last year either. He had sat against the wall, waited his turn, danced, and left. But Lance… it was hard _not_ to notice him. He had never learned his name, and he had forgotten about him not long after. But when he danced… Keith had actually watched.

He doesn’t remember much about his dancing now, but he remembers what he thought about it. Lance had been… wild. Keith could tell right away that his routine wasn’t entirely practiced. But that didn’t seem to matter. He never missed a beat, never stumbled. He smiled throughout the whole thing, and the way his body moved was just… entirely natural. It was so different from Keith, and he found himself staring.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in seeing him dance again.

Unfortunately, it looks like he’s not going to.

Scowling, Keith looks down at his phone. Five minutes until auditions start. The energy in the room is hyped and jittery, but Keith feels nothing but annoyance as he once again scans the room. He knows Lance isn’t here. He would notice him right away, and no doubt Lance would come up to him, say something stupid, brag a little bit. He knows Lance isn’t here, but he looks anyway. The door opens, and his eyes snap to it. But it’s just a couple of teenagers chatting away as they push into the room.

Keith looks away, his frown growing as he stares at a spot on the hardwood floor.

He isn’t even sure why he said yes when Lance asked if he was going to audition again this year. He hadn’t been planning on it. He had already decided not to, despite Shiro’s insistence that he should try again. But then Lance… He had looked so hopeful when he had asked. Keith still isn’t sure what had possessed him to say yes, but he had.

And that had started a strange rivalry between them.

Lance always seemed to be in the room next to him. His music was always loud, and Keith always turned his up to match. They constantly threw comments and insults through the wall. They occasionally raced down the stairs after their practices. At one point Lance put a handwritten sign on his door that read “Lance’s Room, No Mullets Allowed.” Keith responded by putting a sign on his door that read “Not Room 4C.” Lance had turned red and sputtered at that, and it had been hilarious.

This had gone on for two weeks. Two weeks of Lance’s constant insults and snide remarks. Two weeks of petty competitiveness and his practices being interrupted. Two weeks of heading toward the parking lot with Lance’s parting words echoing in his ears. “One week till I kick your ass, mullet!” “Make sure you show up, fancy feet!” “Better not run off scared, Kogane! I’m gonna beat you fair and square!”

He could have chosen a different practice room. He could have started practicing at a different time. He could have easily avoided Lance. But he hadn’t.

Lance is annoying. He’s insufferably cocky and confident. He’s loud and isn’t afraid of making his opinions on Keith known. He gets underneath Keith’s skin in the worst way possible. He’s needlessly competitive and has basically forced Keith into a rivalry that he didn’t ask for and definitely doesn’t want. But… Keith can’t quite bring himself to get rid of him.

Somehow he’s found himself drawn into all of Lance’s nonsense. He finds himself responding to Lance, stooping to his level. Racing him down the stairs. Racing him to the drinking fountain. Putting passive aggressive sticky notes on his door. Yelling comments about his music through the walls. Teasing him about not being able to settle on a song.

He’s never cared about dance competitions. He doesn’t like dancing in front of audiences. But he really, really wants to beat Lance. He shouldn’t have anything to prove, and he knows this. But he really wants to wipe that smug grin off his stupidly attractive face. He wants Lance to watch him, to have his complete attention, and to see the way Lance would frown and turn red when he realizes that Keith is good.

Keith isn’t always competitive, but he’s been been known to be stubborn, and he’s always found it hard to say no to a challenge. And Lance… Lance has an innate ability to bring it out in him. Lance threw down a challenge, and it had lit a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years.

He had actually… been looking forward to this. He had woken this morning with an odd sort of nervous, excited energy. He had felt weird butterflies in his stomach when he had driven here. Despite only having two weeks to prepare, he was ready. The routine he had chosen was one he had been working on anyway. He had actually been excited to audition, which was a strange feeling.

And all of that has slowly been leaking out of him with every minute that ticked by in Lance’s absence.

“Welcome everyone!” Coran says cheerily, clasping his hands together as he walks into the open dance space at the front of the room. The hum of conversation dies down to listen to him.

Keith isn’t paying attention. His jaw is clenched too tight, but he barely registers the ache. He checks his phone again. What is he even doing here? Why did he let himself get so worked up over this? He hates that he let Lance get to him. More than that, he hates how disappointed he feels.

Something is definitely wrong with him.

As Coran steps aside to let the first person get set up, quiet conversation starts up again, whispered between groups of friends. Keith pushes off the wall, grabbing his bag and hiking it over his shoulder. He maneuvers his way around the edge of the room, ignoring the curious glances. He leaves, letting the door slam shut behind him.

He still has two hours before his shift at work, and he decides that a long hard run at the gym is exactly what he needs.

While he’s there, he gets several calls from Shiro and even more texts. He ignores them all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on, Coran, you _have_ to let me audition!” Lance leans across the tall counter of the front desk. His arms are bent and his hands clasped together, held up in front of his face as he begs. “I _have_ to get in. Just— _please_ just let me audition. I’m only a day late.”

Coran leans against the wall behind the desk, one arm crossed over his chest and the other idly stroking his mustache. He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. “No can do, Lance. You know we have a very strict policy about these things.”

“I know, but I had an _emergency!_ I had to take my niece to the ER after she broke her arm! The _ER_ , Coran! The _emergency_ room!”

For what it’s worth, Coran does look apologetic. He tilts his head to the side, hand dropping from his mustache. “I know, Lance, and that _is_ unfortunate, but you know I can’t bend the rules for you.”

“Coran, I thought we were friends!” Lance throws his hands into the air.

“We are, but I can’t give you special treatment.”

Lance groans loudly and collapses forward, flopping his arms limply across the counter and resting his head face down. “I called and left a voicemail and everything!” He mumbles into the hard surface. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“It was very courteous of you, but no, I’m afraid. It counts for nothing.”

“Gee, thanks, buddy.” He grumbles dryly.

“This reminds me of when I was young and first got into competing. Back when Allura and I were partners, we missed an audition after I came down with a nasty case of—“

“Coraaaaaan,” Lance whines loudly, cutting off the other man’s story. His hands flop in the air in front of him. “Is there _anything_ you can do?” Lance lifts his head, resting his chin on the counter so he can look up at Coran. He tries to look at pitiful as possible, with wide eyes and a pouting lip and everything.

Coran only looks at him with pity and shakes his head. “Sorry, my boy, but my hands are tied. If we made an exception for you, we’d have to make exceptions for everyone. And that would just turn into a messy situation.”

Lance groans loudly again. Perhaps a little louder than necessary, but hey, he’s really upset right now. He drops his head again, forehead hitting the counter just a little too hard, which makes him groan again. He’s not mad at Coran. He understands where he’s coming from. Altea has always had very strict rules about audition days. Lance has always respected it, but he’s never been in this situation before.

He had been getting ready to leave the house when it happened. His nieces were over, as they always were during weekdays. His mama kept an eye on them while his brother and his wife were at work. It was cheaper than daycare or a babysitter, and they got to play with their cousins. Lance helped out, too, when he didn’t have work or plans. He had been alone watching them while his mama was grocery shopping. Just twenty more minutes and she would’ve been home and he would’ve been gone.

His nieces, Maria and Abigail, and his youngest brother, Leo, had been playing in the back yard, and he had been tying his shoes when he heard the screaming. After a lot of panicked yelling and tears, he had finally been able to get the story out of them. Maria had jumped down from the deck of the tree house, like they had all recently started to do because they were ‘big enough’ now and it was faster than climbing down the ladder. As much as his mama berated them for it, they never got hurt beyond scrapped hands and sore knees. This time, however, her shoe lace had caught on a loose nail and she had been tripped as she jumped. She had landed on her arm and it had broken.

He’d had no choice. He hadn’t even thought about it. He had rushed all three of them to his car and driven them to the hospital. It hadn’t been until he was sitting in the waiting room, his niece on his lap and cradled against his chest, that he realized he was missing solo auditions.

He’d called the front desk, but no one was there. He’d left a voicemail, explaining the situation and why he was missing auditions. He had known at the time that it was a futile effort. He _knew_ about the strict rules. But he had hoped beyond hope that there was maybe _something_ that could be done about it. That maybe Coran could somehow work some of his magic. Pull some strings. Anything.

Apparently, he’s just shit out of luck.

Auditions are a big deal. They’re his only chance to get to regionals, which is only like one of the biggest and best competitions around. And first and second place get to go to nationals. Lance loves dancing and he loves competitions. And not only would the publicity be a good jumpstart to actually being able to _do_ something about a possible dance career, but the money that comes with winning is nice, too.

He’s been auditioning for years, and while this isn’t his first time not getting in, it _is_ the first time he’s missed auditions all together.

And it’s also the most important one that he missed for one simple reason: Keith.

For _two week_ he was talking himself up and challenging Keith and making him promise that he’d make it to auditions. For _two weeks_ he’s been talking shit. And then he didn’t even make it himself.

Jesus fucking Christ, what is it about Keith that just makes him constantly fuck up and embarrass himself? Granted, this had been completely out of his control, but he’s still extremely bummed about it.

“Lance?” Coran asks, and he hears the man shift closer to him. A strong finger jabs at his head. “Are you alright?”

“No!” Lance snaps, blindly swatting his hand away without lifting his head. “Can’t you see I’m wallowing?”

“Ah, yes, I do see that. Would you mind wallowing somewhere out of the way? Our classes will be starting up soon, and I need to be able to greet any guests who come in.”

“ _Uuuugh_ , Coran have some _compassion_.”

“I am… compassionately asking you to relocate your wallowing into one of the available chairs.”

“Fiiine,” He steps backward a couple steps, pulling his body off the counter in the process. Head hanging forward, shoulders slumped, and arms hanging limply at his sides. He drags his feet over to one of the chairs at the side of the room and flops down into it.

“Don’t worry, Lance.” Coran says, shifting through some papers on the desk behind the counter. He doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention anymore. “There’s always next year.”

Lance grunts in acknowledgement, putting one elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his cheek against his fist. His other arm flops across the other arm rest, fingers idly tapping the metal. He glares at a smudge on the floor, lips pursed into a small frown. Yeah, there _is_ next year. But he’d made auditions _this_ year into such a big deal, and he didn’t even get to put his money where his mouth was. God, Keith must think he’s a huge fucking loser.

He’s so deep in his self pity that he barely notices when someone walks into the office. In fact, he doesn’t notice until there’s a familiar set of shoes in his vision and a familiar voice speaking.

“Good afternoon, Coran, Lance.”

“Good afternoon, Shiro!” Coran says cheerfully.

Lance grumbles something unintelligible that might have been a greeting.

“I just came by to get the keys to our room.”

“Right! Of course. I haven’t gotten around to unlocking all the practice rooms yet.” Coran says, turning around to the board of pegs that’s mounted on the wall. He taps his chin. “Let’s see… room 2A?”

“As usual.” Shiro says, and Lance can hear the smile in his voice. He and Allura have been dance partners for years, and in that time, Lance has never known them to practice in any other room. Not that anyone would ever try to stop them from claiming that room. Allura, after all, technically owns the Dance Academy. She doesn’t work here, but she inherited it when her father passed.

Her and Shiro have been partners for as long as Lance has known them. He’s never seen two people so completely in sync with each other, and they’re honestly beautiful to watch. They’ve won several championships in Altea’s name. Their trophies are displayed proudly in the case in the entry hall. While they don’t normally teach, they occasionally hold classes for duos. Not for any specific type of dance, but to help partners with synergy and teamwork. Other than that, they sometimes help out in other classes. Allura likes to pop in and join whenever she has free time, and she likes to get to know everyone who comes here. Lance doesn’t know how she manages to remember everyone’s names and faces, but she does.

They’re both honestly really cool people, and Lance is proud that he can call them both friends, which is more than most at Altea get to do. He has an in though. Shiro is friends with Pidge’s older brother, so they’ve known each other for years and naturally Lance and Hunk got pulled into that friendship.

They’re part of his dance family, and he loves them. Wouldn’t trade them for the world. But right now, he’s not even sure Shiro can manage to cheer him up.

Because he’s currently imagining all the terrible impressions he’s given Keith and how he’s never going to manage to salvage his reputation. He groans again and buries his face in his open palm.

There’s a short silent before Shiro speaks. “Is he alright?”

“I have been informed that no, he is not alright, he’s wallowing.”

“What happened this time?”

“You say that like I wallow all the time!” Lance says, lifting his head to narrow his eyes at his friends. They’re both staring at him with flat expressions, eyebrows raised. They don’t say anything, but their skeptic silence speaks volumes. And okay… maybe they have a point.

“He missed solo auditions for regionals yesterday.” Coran says, answering Shiro’s question.

“Don’t remind me!” He throws up his arms, collapsing back against his chair, arms falling to lay across the arm rests and head tilted back against the chair. He slouches, glaring at the ceiling.

“What happened?” Shiro asks, sounding more surprised than anything. “I’ve seen you go to auditions with a fever rather than miss it.”

“I had to take my niece to the hospital after she broke her arm.” He grumbles without heat.

Shiro’s tone immediately shifts to concern. “Maria or Abigail? Is she alright?”

“Maria,” Lance waves a hand at him before letting it fall. “Yeah, yeah, she’s good. She’s more excited about having people sign her cast than anything. The only real damage is to my pride.”

“So nothing you’re not used to then?”

“Hey!” Lance’s head snaps up and he levels a glare at Shiro. The man is standing near the front desk, a good humored smile playing across his lips. Coran is chuckling behind the desk. Lance can’t stay mad at them. Especially when they’re right. He sighs, slapping both hands over his face. “How am I supposed to beat mullet head _now?_ ” He groans, more to himself than anyone else.

Shiro, however, hears him. “Are you… are you talking about Keith?”

Lance spreads his fingers, peeking out and raising an eyebrow. Shiro’s eyeing him curiously. “Yeah?” He didn’t expect Shiro to actually know who he was talking about. Then again, there’s only one guy who has a mullet around here. “You know Keith?”

Shiro’s smile is back, small and tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I do.” His eyes squint a little in amusement, but Lance doesn’t really get what’s funny. “He’s a pretty good dancer.”

“I knooooow.” Lance closes his fingers again and groans. “And I told him I was gonna kick his ass at auditions and beat him at regionals, but once again he one ups me.”

“Actually, Keith missed auditions, too.”

His fingers splay wide so he can stare at Shiro, both eyebrows raised. “Say what now?”

“Keith missed auditions, too.” Shiro looks like he’s trying far too hard to look casual, and Lance doesn’t trust it.

His brows furrow, hands coming down on the arm rests as he leans forward, tilting his head as his eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. He won’t tell me.”

“But you’re sure he missed auditions? As in he didn’t get a spot for regionals?”

“That’s what I’m saying, yes.”

“Yes!” Lance jumps to his feet, throwing a fist into the air before bringing it down in front of him. His self pity evaporates in an instant. Sure, he’s still upset that he missed auditions. Going to regionals wasn’t _entirely_ about Keith. But at least there’s no longer that salt in the wound. He does a little victory dance, which mostly consists of swinging hips and bobbing shoulders. “Suck it, _Keith_!”

“He told me you were big into this whole competition thing,” Shiro says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I didn’t realize you were this….”

“Intense?” Coran supplies.

“Exactly. Though this would explain why he actually cared enough to actually audition. Or at least intended do.”

“How is that?”

“He’s never been good at turning down a challenge, and Lance… is very good at setting challenges.”

“Very good at forcing you into them, don’t you mean?”

Shiro chuckles. “Exactly.”

Lance is only listening with half an ear, far too engrossed in his victory dance, which has morphed into more of a victory Macarena. With a swing of his hips, he jumps to face the others, his lips split into a wide grin. They’re both watching him with raised eyebrows and varying degrees of amusement.

“Feeling better?” Shiro asks, crossing his arms over his chest, lips quirking upward.

Lance puts his hands on his hips, grin never faltering. “Immensely.”

Coran glances at the clock on the wall. “Don’t you have a practice room reserved, Lance?”

He brings a fist down on his open palm. “Right!” His face instantly drops, as do his shoulders and his grin. His bottom lip sticks out in a small pout. “I guess I’ll go… practice, or something.” He mumbles, scooping up his back and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s going to do. It isn’t like he has anything to practice for now. He had reserved room 4C for weeks in advanced, under the assumption that he would end up going to regionals.

So much for that.

He drags his feet as he makes his way out of the front office. Maybe he’ll stop by Pidge and Hunk’s room. They still have a couple weeks before the duo auditions, but they usually learn their routines pretty quickly. So they shouldn’t mind _too_ much if he bums around for a bit. Maybe he can help them with a few transitions. As much as they complain about dancing _with_ him, they do value his advice. He knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it, even if he doesn’t play well with others.

“Do you still want to get in?”

Lance stops mid step, back tracking until he’s in the doorway to the office again. With one hand on the door frame, he eyes Shiro through narrowed eyes, one eyebrow raised. “Was that a trick question?”

“Nope.” He says with a small shake of his head before repeating, “Do you still want to go to regionals?” Shiro’s arms drop to his sides as he steps forward to join Lance by the door. His face is so open and friendly, but Lance is having a hard time believing what he’s implying.

“Yeeeees?” He says, suspicious. His brows furrow and he lifts his chin, eyeing Shiro sideways. “More than anything, but Coran said there was nothing he could do.”

“Maybe not, but I have an idea.” Shiro slides past him out the door and starts off down the hallway. He waves over his shoulder. “Follow me.” And Lance does because he has nothing else to do and his curiosity is piqued. He isn’t sure what Shiro is getting at, not when Coran said there was no way he could get in, but he’s willing to try whatever it is. He’s been looking forward to regionals for _months_.

Allura is waiting for Shiro by the stairs. She’s leaning up against the wall, hair pulled back into a thick bun and her head bowed over her phone. Even in sweatpants and a tight tank top, she looks good. She’s all curves and dark skin, silver hair and bright blue eyes. She’s tall, with curves and muscle, and damn if she isn’t the most attractive woman Lance has ever seen.

She’s also incredibly out of his league, and he’s embarrassed himself enough trying to hit on that, thank you very much.

Besides, it didn’t take him long to realize she has a thing for Shiro. Not that he can blame her. Shiro is _also_ incredibly attractive, and the two of them make one of the most amazing duo partners he’s ever witnessed. Not that they’ll ever admit their chemistry goes beyond that of just dance partners.

She looks up when she hears them coming, and her lips tilt upward into a warm smile as her eyes settle on Shrio. Lance glances at his friend to see the same smile mirrored there. Shiro lifts a hand to wave at her as they approach.

Her eyes shift to Lance, and her smile is no less friendly. “Hello, Lance!”

Her smile is infectious. Lance practically beams. “Hey, Allura.”

“How did auditions go?”

His smile drops immediately. His shoulders slump as he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away. “I… didn’t make it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her own expression drop. “Oh, Lance, I am sorry to hear that.”

He hates hearing her pity. He doesn’t want to bother telling her that he didn’t even make it _to_ auditions. He straightens, waving her off and tilting his head to the side. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” He lets his lips curve into a relaxed smirk. Confidence is key. He might have been moping and wallowing in self pity just five minutes ago, but that was before someone actually showed genuine pity. He doesn’t want pity. So he won’t let her see that it’s actually tearing him up inside that he had to miss auditions. “Besides, Shiro here said he has an idea for how I can still get in.” He says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the man in question.

Her eyes slide to Shiro, one delicate eyebrow raising. She looks genuinely curious. “Does he now?”

Shiro nods. “Do you mind starting without me?” He tosses her the key and she snatches it out of the air with ease, barely blinking. “I want to see if this might work.” He’s being cryptic, and Allura is eyeing him suspiciously, her lips pressed into a small pout.

“Alright, but I expect you to tell me everything when you are done.” She says, pushing off the wall to follow them up the stairwell. She turns off at the second floor, giving them both a wave and shooting Shiro a narrowed look. He just smiles and continues up the stairs. Lance trails after him.

“Uuuh, so where are we going?” He asks as they pass the third floor. Pidge and Hunk should be down there now. They usually sign up for rooms at the same time and carpool. It’s just easier that way. They had left Lance in the front office to beg and plead with Coran, and they would no doubt be expecting him to come barging in with whatever good or bad news he has. He’ll have to keep them waiting just a little longer. Maybe then he’ll have good news.

“You’ll see,” Is all Shiro says as they climb to the fourth and top floor of the building.

They step out of the stairwell and Lance’s eyes immediately go to room 4D. He had kind of been hoping that Keith wouldn’t be there. There’s no reason for him to have hope for this. He and Keith have been practicing at the same time nearly every day for two weeks, but he still hopes against hope that this will be the day that Keith _isn’t_ here. He doesn’t want to face him after skipping out on auditions yesterday. And after hearing that Keith also missed auditions… well, he was kind of hoping that meant that Keith wouldn’t have anything to practice for and therefore wouldn’t show. Pretty stupid logic, seeing as he _also_ doesn’t have anything to practice for now, but he’s still here.

And all his hope has been in vain, because the door to room 4D is cracked and music is filtering out into the hallway. It’s definitely not in english, and it definitely sounds like some kinda kpop. He feels his lip curl in distaste. He’s just glad Keith is already in his room and he doesn’t have to face him.

He stops when he reaches room 4C, but Shiro keeps walking.

“Uh, Shiro? My room is right here?” He says, thrusting a thumb at the door.

“I know.” He says simply, continuing on.

Lance glares at his back. _Hoe, don’t— dammit!_ Lo and behold, Shiro stops in front of room 4D. He turns to look at Lance, eyebrows raised. Lance hasn’t moved an inch. “Shiro, what are you doing?” He asks, voice low and filled with suspicion. Red lights are going off in his head to accompany the red flags that are shooting up all over the place. _Red alert! Keith alert! Avoid! Hide! Duck into your room and lock the door! Drown out Shiro’s protests with Nicki Minaj!_

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice is suddenly very solemn and very serious. Lance hates that voice. That’s his dreaded _dad_ voice. “Do you trust me?”

Lance pouts, looking away with a sigh. “Yes.” Because that’s all he _can_ say when Shiro is using that voice. He feels like he’ll just disappoint him otherwise, and he does _not_ want Shiro’s stern fatherly disapproval.

He instantly brightens, no longer so serious as he grins at Lance with the friendliest goddamn smile in the world, and he feels like he’s been manipulated. “Good, then come on.” And so Lance shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges over to stand a little behind Shiro. He lifts his prosthetic hand and knocks on the door, pushing it open slightly and sticking his head through. “Keith?”

The response is instant. “Hey, Shiro.”

And Lance stiffens. Not just because he’s actually nervous as hell to be face to face with Keith after blowing off the audition he made such a big deal of, but because holy shit Keith’s _voice_. It’s not the voice he’s come to know. It’s not filled with exasperation or irritation. It’s not dry or sarcastic or mocking. It doesn’t have that angry edge or that underlying amusement. He sounds pleasantly surprised and genuinely… kind. He sounds _nice_ , and… and holy shit, Lance was _not_ expecting that.

It makes him wonder how exactly Keith and Shiro know each other. Like, yeah, Shiro brings out the best in everyone, but Keith’s voice spoke of so much familiarity that it’s hard not to be curious.

“Can we talk for a moment?” Shiro is saying, pushing open the door far enough to step into the room.

Lance hears Keith sigh, and his voice is suddenly very tired and a little annoyed, which is much more like the Keith he knows. “Shiro, if this is about auditions, I already _told_ you, I don’t—“ He cuts off abruptly when Lance follows Shiro into the room

He tries to keep his shoulders back to keep from slouching, but he can’t help the pout he feels on his face. Unlike the last time he barged into this room, full of bravado and determination, he feels small and uncomfortable as he tries to stick to Shiro’s shadow. He has no idea what the guy is up to, but he’s severely reconsidering the whole ‘he’ll try anything to get to regionals’ thing.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Keith’s voice has a lot of bite to it, and Lance instantly bristles.

He finally looks up at Keith, takes in his sour expression, his arms crossed over his chest, the way his weight his leaning onto one hip, that god _damn_ pony tail. More than any of that, he takes in the fact that Keith looks almost _hostile_ as he glares at him, and that is _definitely_ new. Even when they’ve been in the heat of an argument, he’s never seen _this_ level of anger from Keith.

Part of him really just wants to shy away from Keith’s glare, go hide in good old room 4C, and lose himself to his music. Maybe lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling and _really_ get his wallow on. Work on bottling up and stuffing down that embarrassment until he’s able to actually face Keith again.

But that part of him is stamped into the dirty by the part of him that makes him so endearingly stubborn and defiant. At least that’s what his mama calls it.

He lifts his chin, matching Keith’s glare as he picks his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. “It’s not like I _want_ to be here, kpop. Shiro told me to follow him.”

Keith breaks their good old fashioned stare down to shift his glare to Shiro. “Why did you bring him _here_?”

One hand on the strap of the bag thrown over his shoulder, he gestures to Lance with the other. “Lance didn’t make it to regionals—“

Keith scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No shit, he wasn’t even there.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Lance snaps.

“Because _I_ actually showed up, unlike _some_ people.”

Lance opens his mouth to respond, but snaps it shut when nothing comes out. His brows furrow as he shifts his gaze to Shiro. The older man is gazing at him with eyebrows raised, lips tugged downward into a small frown. He looks back to Keith, leaning his head forward a little and turning it an inch to the side to look at Keith sideways. “Shiro said you missed auditions.”

Keith’s glare snaps to Shiro, and Lance watches as the man gives Keith a shrug and a sheepish smile. “What? You did.”

“I was _there_.” Keith finally says, looking back to Lance. Either his cheeks are dusted with the smallest shade of pink or the lighting in here is doing weird things to his completion. “I just… left. Before they started.”

Lance gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth open, and everything. “ _Why?_ ” He manages to gasp. Why would Keith _leave_ before he auditioned? Especially if he was already _there_? Lance would have _killed_ for that chance!

Now he’s _definitely_ sure it’s not the lighting, because Keith’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink as he looks down and away. “I just… I wasn’t feeling good.” He mumbles, and at least he sounds abashed, even if Lance doesn’t really understand. He would have gone through his routine choking down vomit if it meant he got to audition.

Shiro clears his throat, bringing both of their attentions back to him. “As I was saying,” He gestures to Lance. “Lance didn’t make it to auditions.” His hand swings around to point to Keith, giving him a very pointed look. “And neither did you. You _both_ missed out on your chance to go to regionals as solo performers.”

“Shiro, what the hell!” Lance nearly shouts, throwing his arms up in the air before letting them fall to his sides. He’s hunched forward, head hanging as he glares up at the man. He purses his lips together. “You told me you were gonna help me get in!”

He nods, a small smile starting to play across his lips, and Lance _really_ doesn’t like the look of that smile. “I am, Lance. If you would just listen.”

Lance tilts his head, eyes still narrowed in suspicion and locked onto the older man. “I’m listening.”

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest, looking back and forth between him and Keith. “I propose you two audition as a duo.”

Lance’s jaw drops open. He’s is pretty sure he’s hearing things, because did Shiro just say— He lifts a hand, sticking a finger in his ear and twisting it. “I’m sorry, I must be hallucinating, because I could have sworn you just said—“

Shiro nods again. “That you two should audition as a duo, yes.”

“WHAT?!” Lance straightens, scrambling backwards, arms going up and eyes wide with horror. His eyes whip around to look at Keith, and he hasn’t moved an inch, but his face is contorted in a very similar expression. It takes him about two seconds to echo Lance’s sentiment.

“ _What?_ ”

“Shiro, you said you would _help_ me—“

“You _can’t_ be serious—“

“I do _not_ dance duos, and _especially_ not with _Keith_!”

“I don’t care enough about this competition to sink that low—“

“ _Excuse_ you, you would be _lucky_ to have me as a partner!”

“You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me!”

“Alright, hold up, Billy Ray, _you_ wouldn’t be able to keep up with _me_!”

“Do you even know _how_ to choreograph something?”

“Do you even know _how_ to dance?”

“At least I can pick a song!”

“At least my songs are good!”

“Guys! Cool it!” Shiro cuts in, putting a hand on both of their shoulders to push them apart.

Lance hadn’t even realized that they had both stepped forward during their argument, closing the distance between them until they stood practically nose to nose, arms flailing and gesturing wildly and fingers jabbing painfully into each other’s chests. He can feel Keiths breath on his face and the warmth radiating from his body. He can see how long his lashes are and how his thick eyebrows are furrowed, matching his wrinkled nose. He can see the flush of anger across his otherwise flawless pale skin. And he had never thought much about Keith’s eyes before, but now he can see that they’re dark gray with little flecks of color, and he can smell the slightly woodsy scent of his deodorant, and— _jesus fucking christ_ he should _not_ be standing this close.

He’s kind of finding it hard to focus on the argument at hand all of a sudden, so he lets Shiro push him away from Keith. He steps back with one foot, twisting his body sideways so he’s no longer facing him, and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. He looks pointedly away and tries to subtly suck down lung full of sweet, fresh, Keith-free air. He raises his shoulders nearly up to his ears, his mouth twisting into a frown. He does _not_ like how Keith always seems to manage to mess with his head.

But Shiro is talking again, and Lance turns his attention to him, if only to keep his attention _off_ of Keith for a moment. The guy just gets him so worked up.

“As I was saying,” Shiro says with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest once again. He some how makes the stance look infinitely more intimidating than Keith or himself. Lance turns his head to glance sideways at Shiro, pointedly refusing to look at Keith. But out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Keith is also turned away from him, arms crossed and eyes locked on Shiro. “You two should seriously consider dancing as a duo.” He held up a hand, effectively cutting off both of their protests with a sharp shake of his head. Lance’s jaw snapped shut. “Hear me out, okay?” He looks between them, and it’s obvious that he’s waiting for an answer.

“Fine.” Keith grumbles.

“Fiiiine.” Lance sighs.

Shiro nods, continuing. “Dancing as a duo isn’t that bad, and the auditions for it aren’t for another two weeks. You’re both very talented, and that should be plenty of time for you two to come up with something. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just good enough to impress the Altea judges and get you that spot at regionals.”

“But—“ Lance tries, but he’s once again cut off by Shiro raising his hand and shaking his head.

“I’m not done.” Lance huffs, hunching his shoulders a little more and looking away. “Keith, you’re brilliant with choreography. I _know_ you have several dances you’re working on now. You could easily adapt them to be for two people.”

Lance lifts his head a fraction, shoulders dropping slightly as he glances sideways at Keith. He… didn’t know that. It’s pretty much inherent for a good dancer to be able to choreograph their own dances. They all can. Hell, Lance can. But the way Shiro says it… he makes it sound like Keith is better at it than usual. Like that’s his _thing_. And despite himself, Lance is… intrigued.

“And Lance,” Shiro’s piercing eyes swing back to him and Lance jumps, ripping his eyes away from Keith to stare at Shiro, eyes wide. Shiro’s gaze softens, and Lance relaxes. “You pick up dance moves and styles faster than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re the most adaptable dancer I know. If anyone can keep up and learn Keith’s choreography in two weeks, it’s you.”

Lance’s shoulders drop, pulling back as he lifts his chin. A lazy smirk spreads his lips as he preens in the praise. He rolls his shoulder, tilting his head to shoot Keith a smug look. Keith just looks at him with a blank and unreadable expression, lips tight and brows furrowed.

“Hear that, Keith?” Lance says, all confidence.

“I heard.” Keith says flatly, but doesn’t rise to the bait.

Lance opens his mouth to say something else, but Shiro cuts him off. “Lance, do you want to go to regionals?”

Lance blinks at him, smug smile fading. His first instinct is a sarcastic reply, but something about Shiro’s face stops him. So he swallows his sass and decides to go for open honesty. “Hell fucking _yeah_ I want to go. More than anything.”

Shiro nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lance knows that was the answer that he was hoping for. He turns to look at Keith. “Keith, do you want to go to regionals.”

Lance glares at Keith in time to see him open his mouth, close it, and look away. He fidgets under Shiro’s gaze, shifting his weight and shuffling his arms.

Shiro sighs, dropping his head a fraction and shaking it. There’s exasperation there, but also a fondness that Lance finds hard to place. “Alright, let me rephrase: Keith, going to regionals would be good for you. No, don’t argue with me. It would be. You didn’t go last year, and I respected your wishes, but you have a lot of talent and this would be a good opportunity for you.” His face softens, and suddenly it’s Lance’s turn to fidget. He feels like he’s intruding on a private moment. He looks down, picking at the colorful woven bracelets on his wrists. “I know you _want_ to preform, Keith.”

Lance glances up to find that Keith still isn’t looking at Shiro. He shrugs, and Shiro seems to take that as a yes. He clasps his hands together, flesh slapping against metal in an startling loud sound. Both he and Keith jump.

“Good, now that that’s settled, let’s try something.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance says, holding up both hands. He puts one on his hip and uses his other to point and Shiro. “We didn’t settle anything—“

“I never agreed to anything—“ Keith cuts in.

“Neither did I!”

Shiro isn’t listening to them. He’s turned away from them both and is walking toward the front of the room where the auxiliary cable sits. He sets his bag on the ground and grabs it, pulling it out from Keith’s phone and plugging it into his own.

“Shiro,” Keith says slowly, warning and suspicion in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“I said we were going to try something.” He says casually, turning to face them both as he scrolls through his phone. “Do you two remember the dance you were taught in that class last year? For the final performance?”

Keith’s brows furrow in thought, and Lance taps his chin, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as he thinks. He’s been in a lot of classes throughout the years, and each one had several dances that they learned. It’s gotten to the point where a lot of them blur together, but he can very clearly remember the one class he had with Keith.

He remembers how he always chose a spot at the front of the room. How he spent every free moment with his headphones on, avoiding the rest of class. How he was always, always, practicing. How Lance had spent a good portion of his time watching him. It didn’t take long for Lance to zero in on him. He was clearly one of the best dancers in the room. Aside from Lance, of course. And because of that, he had instantly felt the need to impress him, to prove himself. Lance had tried to make eye contact with him in the mirror, tried to get a spot next to him to show off a little. No matter what he tried, he never seemed to get a reaction. Keith was stoic and stuck up and carried himself like he _knew_ he was good and like he didn’t want to interact with anyone else. It had grated on Lance’s nerves and had fueled his desire to be _better_ than him.

And it’s only because of that that he’s able to remember the dance they did for their final performance.

He snaps his fingers, grinning as he pulls up the memory. “Uptown Funk.”

Shiro nods, a smile playing across his lips as he looks down at his phone. “Exactly. You both did very well, if I remember correctly.”

“You remember at least a little bit,” Lance says, smirking. “ _I_ did very well. I donno about Keithy boy over here.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, ignoring Keith’s glare.

Shiro looks up then, looking between them. “Do you remember the dance?”

“Pfff, of _course_ I do,” Lance drawls, rolling his head to the side. He waves a hand at Shiro. “I know that routine like the back of my hand.” He holds up the hand in question— when did he get a cut on his knuckles?

Shiro’s smile looks amused. “Good. Keith?”

Keith shrugs and nods. “I remember it.”

“Oooo, someone’s cocky.” Lance says, rolling his eyes.

“And you’re not?”

“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, ponytail?” Not his best insulting nickname, but _damn_ if that ponytail isn’t distracting. Seriously, where does he get off putting up that god awful hair and having it look cute as fuck? And his neck is far too long and slender and definitely needs to be covered up pronto.

“Maybe I will!”

“Good, now that that’s settled—“

“Nothing was settled!” Both of them snap at the same time, whipping around to glare at Shiro.

He puts up both hands defensively, still holding his phone. His smile widens as he looks between them, and he even chuckles a little. Lance scowls at him. “Alright, look, just calm down for a second.”

“I am calm.” Keith says with a little too much bite.

“Me too!” Lance adds, sending the other boy a glare.

“Then neither of you would mind doing that dance?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’m down. I’ll prove to mullet boy over here that I’m better than him.” Lance says, tossing his bag to the side and cranking his neck to the side to crack it. He intertwines his fingers and stretches them in front of him before shaking out his limbs. He bounces on the balls of his feet. “Let’s go, Shiro.”

His brows are furrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “Lance, this isn’t really meant to be a competition—“

“Let’s _go_ , Shiro.” Lance says loudly and impatiently. He can feel Keith still staring at him, but he ignores him.

“This is to prove that you two _can_ dance as a duo. I just chose this one because I know it’s pretty easy and you both learned it—“

“Let the music play!”

Shiro sighs, finally giving in and tapping his phone.

Immediately the opening beats to _Uptown Funk_ start blaring over the speakers, and Lance is immediately jumping into action. Turning sideways, one arm bent with his hand on the side of his head, his other arm extends and snaps in front of him in time with the beat. He walks forward with sideways steps. After a couple beats, he switches sides. In the wall length mirror, he can see Keith doing the same thing next to him.

They face forward, snapping fingers at their sides before sweeping their arms up and over their heads to point to the side. They take a few steps back, hips swinging and arms waving with them. Then the beat drops, and they throw their hands up in the air before dropping down to grab the front of their pants and thrusting forward. And then they’re moving quickly, knees twisting in and out to the beat, arms being thrown out to the side. Hands move down their sides, outlining their bodies. They turn for a couple steps before hopping back.

Lance feels a thrill run through him as he watches both of them move in the mirror. It’s not like when he’s in a class, and everyone is doing the same thing but everyone is just slightly off. Lance has always prided himself on his rhythm and timing, and he’s long since accepted that most people, no matter how good, tend to be off when they throw their bodies into it. Keith, however… Keith is perfectly in time, all of his movements precise and calculated. As Lance watches their reflections move, he can see that they’re perfectly in sync. With the music and with each other. Every move and motion is done at the same time and at the same angle.

They… actually look good together. Dancing like this. Lance feels the thrill of it thrumming through his veins, and he cant help the wide smile that breaks out across his face. When he looks up, Shiro is grinning, too.

Adrenaline floods his system, and he feels himself starting to really get into the music. His eyes drift closed, letting his body go through the motions. His legs are moving, his hips, his arms, his head is bobbing along, and it just feels so _good_.

As he feels the build to the chorus, his memory starts to get a little muddled. It’s no problem though. He knows vaguely how it’s supposed to go, so he starts to improvise. His eyes open, watching himself in the mirror. His shoulders shake, his steps are fluid and gliding in time with the beat. He shakes his hips, smirks at himself. _Hot damn_.

The beat drops and he’s _in_ it. He’s a slave to it. Moving, bobbing, swinging. He’s not paying attention to his steps or what his hands are doing. He’s just _feeling_ it.

“What are you _doing_.” Keith’s voice snaps him out of his groove.

His eyes widen as he trips over his own feet, stumbling a few steps, arms thrown out to the side to balance himself. Then he lifts his head, eyes narrowing as he shoots a glare at Keith. He’s standing there with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Geez, how did he ever think that Keith sounded _nice_?

“What the hell is your problem?” Lance shouts, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What was _that_?” He throws a hand out at him.

Lance straightens, putting on hand on his hip, cocking it to the side and letting his other arm hang loose at his side. “Uh, _dancing_? I thought we were at a dance studio?”

Keith’s face scrunches up even more. “You weren’t even doing the right dance anymore!”

“It’s called improvising. Ever heard of it?”

“You can’t improvise a choreographed dance!”

“I can, and I just did!”

“Then we’re not in sync anymore!”

“You can’t stifle my creativity!”

“The whole point of this is to see if we can dance _together_ , not for you to go off and do your own thing!”

Lance crosses his arms over his chest, half turning away and lifting his chin with a huff. “You’re just jealous that I looked better than you.”

Keith groans. With one arm crossing his chest, his other hand slaps a hand over his face, dragging it down until his arm flops in front of him. He turns his glare on Shiro, who’s standing helplessly at the front of the room, all traces of his smile gone. “I can’t work with him!” Keith says, gesturing angrily to Lance. “He’s an idiot. I can’t duo with someone who can’t even follow simple choreography.”

Lance bristles, shoulders rising and back stiffening. Any thrill he felt earlier at watching himself dancing with Keith is gone. Flown out the window. Long gone. Never to be heard from again. Dead and buried. Lance is starting to doubt he ever felt it at all.

“Oh yeah? Well I can’t duo with someone who has a giant stick up their ass!” Lance shouts over the music, bringing both of their attentions to him. He stomps over to where his bag lays abandoned, and throws the strap over his shoulder.

“Lance—“ It’s Shiro. His voice is soft but firm, imploring and begging. He sounds a little sad, and Lance can feel that guilt at disappointing him rising in his throat. He chokes it down.

“No,” He says, lifting a hand. “If this is what I get for trying to have a little _fun_ , then I’m out.”

“Lance,” The voice is sterner now. “Keith didn’t mean—“

“Oh, I think he did. And that’s fine.” He’s walking backwards now, toward the door. “It was a nice thought Shiro, and I appreciate you trying to help me, but I think we all know this isn’t going to work.”

“Lance—“

He spins on his heels as the song comes to an end, holding up a hand to wave over his shoulder. “Later, Shiro. Good luck with your auditions.”

He doesn’t say bye to Keith as he leaves. He doesn’t look at him before he pulls the door shut behind him. He doesn’t want to think about _Keith_. Lance should have known better than to even attempt dancing with him. He’s been told for _years_ that he’s hard to work with. But you know what? So is Keith. With his disapproving frown and judging stare and holier-than-thou attitude.

Lance is _good_ at dancing. And he knows it. It’s one of the only things in life that he _knows_ he’s good at. He takes pride in that. And he’s not about to let some mullet-wearing, arrogant kpop wannabe take that away from him. No matter how stupidly hot he looks in a pony tail and no matter how pretty his eyes are.

Lance feels like screaming. There’s too much going on in his head, and his chest feels tight, and he’s been on way too much of a devastation-hope rollercoaster today, and he just needs to let it all out. So he does. He marches down the stairs, out to the parking lot, and throws back his head and screams. It’s loud, it’s wordless, and it makes several birds scatter from their perches on a nearby telephone wire. It’s filled with all his frustration at the world, at himself, at Shiro, at Keith, at stupid rules and stupid auditions.

And when it’s all out, he feel a little better.

Hiking his bag up higher, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he trudges back into the building. He doesn’t want to go to his room. That would be too close to the main source of his current frustration. So instead he stops off on the third floor and heads towards room 3C. He unceremoniously throws the door open without knocking and slams it shut behind him.

Pidge and Hunk are standing in the middle of the room, eyes on the clock on the wall. Neither of them look at him as he comes in.

Pidge nods, hands on their hips. “Just as I thought. Less than a minute. Hunk, you owe me.”

Hunk rolls his eyes, going back to where the laptop is hooked up to the speakers. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll stop and get you a milkshake on our way home.”

Pidge is grinning as their gaze finally slides to Lance, and it fades considerably. They cross their arms over their chest. “Alright, what happened?”

Lance groans loudly and wordlessly, stomping over to the side of the room and throwing his bag on the ground. He falls to his knees, then face plants into his backpack, lying there with his limbs sprawled out and face buried.

“Come on, dude. We heard your angry shout from in here.” Hunk says, pausing the song that’s been playing. “Something’s up.”

Lance groans again, though this time it’s muffled. He rolls his face back and forth on his backpack.

Pidge sighs. “Do you need time to wallow before you complain to us?” Another groan, this one a little more pitiful than the others. “Thought so. Hunk, our pathetic child needs time to gather his thoughts, so we might as well work through the chorus again.”

“Sounds good. Hey Lance, when you’re done wallowing, can you help us find good transitions in and out of the chorus?” Lance doesn’t say anything, but he lifts up an arm, setting it next to his head with a thumbs up. “Great, knew we could count on you, buddy.”

“I’m charging a milkshake for my services.” He mumbles into his backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwhHu8Rsz40&list=RDbSIYAzAqdtw&index=1) is the inspiration for the dance their class learned. 
> 
> If you guys post about or draw art for this fic, tag it as "fic: shut up and dance with me" or "fic: suadwm" or drop us a link so we can see it! ^_^  
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/151446627784/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-2-update)  
>    
> [My Tumblr](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [The Artist's Tumblr](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	3. You Drive Me Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why don’t you just admit you _want_ an excuse to talk to Lance again?” 
> 
> Keith’s eyes shoot open and his head whips up to stare at her. “What—“ His arms give out and his core muscles relax. He falls to his knees, barely catching himself before his chin hits the ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so... I have an outline of things I want to happen in each chapter, and I write until all the events of that chapter have been flushed out. Until it feels... _right_ , you know? This chapter ended at 16.5k words, but holy shit, I can't guarantee that will always happen. I mean, I normally do long chapters, but jfc this chapter, I'm not kidding when I say my writing style is "longer than expected' lmAO

Keith is nearing the final lap of his second mile when he feels his brother’s presence come up next to him. He keeps staring straight ahead, not even bothering to take out his earbuds. “Shiro, no.”

He can see Shiro pull ahead a little, leaning into his vision and miming removing his headphones. Keith huffs, rolling his eyes, but does as he’s asked. “I didn’t even say anything.” Shiro says as soon as Keith tugs out one of his earbuds and lets it drop.

Keith levels a flat glare at him. “You were going to ask me about Lance, weren’t you?” Shiro’s smile turns sheepish. He opens his mouth to speak but Keith cuts him off. “No.” He turns back forward, speeding up his pace a fraction to pull ahead of Shiro. It doesn’t take long before he’s pulling up alongside him once again.

“Keith, just listen—“

“I’m not dancing with him.”

“This would be a good opportunity for you both.”

Keith presses his lips together into a thin frown, but internally he’s groaning. Shiro’s using _that_ voice. Everyone else likes to call it his dad voice, but to Keith, it’s always been his big brother voice. The voice he used whenever Keith had acted out. The voice he used whenever Keith felt like giving up. The voice he used whenever Keith needed kindness and a guiding hand. It’s so soft, so kind, filled with unwavering and genuine concern, yet containing that edge of seriousness that makes Keith bite his tongue.

Keith knows he’s just trying to help, but this is something he really doesn’t want to budge on. So he avoids his brother’s eyes, staring straight ahead.

“Keith,” Kindness and patience. Ugh, Keith hates him sometimes.

“I don’t care about regionals, Shiro.”

He sighs, and Keith can see him shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. “I know you _say_ that—“

“And I mean it.”

“—But, I think you should reconsider.”

“And why should I do that?” He asks dryly. He doesn’t know why he’s humoring Shiro. He’s done a good job avoiding the subject so far. This isn’t the first time Shiro’s attempted to corner him since he forced Keith and Lance to dance together yesterday. He can always just leave, abandon his gym routine and just go. He had driven himself here. But… something keeps him. Stubbornness, probably. He knows Shiro won’t drop the subject until they talk it out. He has that gleam in his eyes that Keith knows all too well. Shiro can be just as stubborn as he is.

“You should perform, Keith. You’re good. Really good. You could go far if you’d just give yourself a chance.” There it is. The beginning of the guilt trip. Shiro is a master of that. Always manipulating him with that kind, caring voice because he knows Keith hates disappointing him. It’s cruel and unfair.

“I don’t see how some competition would help me.” He grumbles, and as soon as he does, he knows he’s made a mistake. Shiro’s smile tells him that the man has sensed a chink in his armor, a fault in his resolve.

“You love dancing, don’t you?”

“What kind of question is that? You know I do.”

“You want to do something with it, right? Some kind of career?”

Keith shrugs, dodging around a few slower joggers to hide his face. “I dunno. Maybe. I haven’t thought about it.”

Shiro’s tone is reproachful. “We both know you have, and you do. The best way for you to get started is to get yourself out there. Let yourself be _seen_. You’re really good, Keith, but you won’t get anywhere if you just dance in a room by yourself.”

“I _know_ that, Shiro, but—“

“And regionals is a perfectly good opportunity for you to prove yourself.” Keith scowls and looks away. He knows Shiro is right, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. Shiro’s been around him long enough to sense him hardening. His voice softens and he tilts his head, giving Keith a small smile. “You’re good enough to get to nationals if you try. It’s a good way to make a name for yourself in something that you love doing.”

Keith grunts in response, grabbing hold of his dangling earbud to keep it from bouncing wildly. “I’m about to go into my sprints. You gonna keep up, old man?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “You can’t run from your problems, Keith.”

“Watch me.” He deadpans, fighting the twitch at the corner of his lips. He pauses as they round the corner of the indoor track, and he bounces on the balls of his feet, staring down the straight stretch.

“How many laps?”

“Sprint three, jog one. Rinse and repeat.” He rolls his shoulders, cranking his head to each side. He can hear the song currently playing coming to an end in his one earbud.

“When we’re done, will you talk with me?”

Keith shrugs, putting his dangling earbud back in his ear. “I’ll think about it. If you’re not too out of breath, old man.”

Shiro frowns. “I’m not that old.”

Keith tugs at his own bangs, a smirk curling his lips. “You’re already going gray.”

Shiro automatically reaches up to brush the white strands away from his forehead. They fell right back into place. His brow furrows and mumbles, “Allura told me it looks good.” It’s a statement, but Keith can hear the self conscious question in it.

He rolls his eyes, bending down to get into position for a runner’s start. “Your hair looks _fine_. It suits you.”

Shiro instantly brightens. “You really think so?”

The song in his ears ends, and he smirks up at his brother. “Yeah, because you’re _old_.” And then his sprinting playlist starts up, all song with fast, driving beats, and he takes off.

Keith loves running. He always has. He finds it cathartic and it never fails to clear his mind. He loves the burn in his lungs and the sweet ache in his body. It’s one of his favorite escapes. Before Shiro had introduced him to dancing, it was his main escape. It’s like nothing can hurt him as long as he keeps moving. He doesn’t have to deal with things as long as he’s moving.

It doesn’t take him long to be up to speed, pushing his body as fast as he can go. He’s breathing hard, legs pumping, and arms swinging. The music in his ears drives him forward, keeps him going. The beat keeps tempo with his heart hammering in his chest. As he thunders down the track, he expertly weaves around people. The balls of his feet barely touch the ground. His blood is singing through his veins, his hair is whipping around him, and he truly feels _alive_.

He tries not to think about how he had felt a very similar feeling when he danced with Lance.

For a moment, he lets himself forget. He forgets about Shiro. He forgets about regionals. He forgets about Lance and the barely concealed hurt in his voice when he had stormed out yesterday. He forgets about his retreating back. He forgets about the angry shout he heard in the parking lot. He forgets about the way his chest had clenched when Lance had said he could never dance with him. Keith had started it. He has no reason to feel hurt because Lance had agreed with him.

He forgets it all and focuses solely on moving forward and pushing his body as fast as he can go.

After two laps, he can feel himself slowing and Shiro catches up to him. They don’t speak. They’re both breathing too hard for that, and they’re too busy dodging around others on the track. But they keep pace with each other.

Then they finish the third lap, and Keith automatically slows to a jog. He’s panting, his heart still pounding, and his music blares in his ears, encouraging him to keep going. But he allows himself a brief reprieve. Shiro looks grateful for this as he slows down beside him. Keith glances sideways at him, and Shiro shoots him a wide grin, pointing to his ear. Keith reluctantly pulls out an earbud.

“You’re going to run someone over one of these days.” He tries to sound serious, but the edge is lost to his teasing tone and the fact that he’s breathless.

Keith shrugs. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

They’re halfway through the lap, breaths finally starting to get back to a more natural rhythm, before Shiro speaks again. “He’s not that bad, you know.”

So much for trying to get his heart rate down for a moment. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Lance.”

Keith definitely feels his heartbeat pick up, and he blames it on the run and his music. There’s no way just the guy’s _name_ can get him this riled up. “Are we thinking about the same guy? Cause the Lance I’m thinking of is definitely that bad.”

“He just… has a very strong personality.”

Keith barks a short, sharp laugh before he can help himself. “That’s one way to put it.”

“You should give him a chance.”

Keith is already putting his earbud back in his ear, making sure it’s secure enough to stay there. “Sorry, Shiro, can’t hear you. Gotta run.”

And then he rounds the corner of the track, and he’s sprinting again. He hears Shiro shouting his name, but he doesn’t turn around. He easily stays ahead of his brother this time. He can hear his heavier steps pounding behind him, and occasionally sees him out of the corner of his eye when he dodges around people, but he doesn’t slow or give him the chance to catch up.

By the time he’s finished his sprinting laps, he slows to a jog which is just a little slower than before. His legs are starting to feel the burn, and it feels great. When Shiro comes up alongside him, he doesn’t even have to say anything before Keith is reaching up to remove one of his earbuds. They don’t say anything for half a lap, content to simply try to catch their breath. The silence is comfortable, and for a brief moment, Keith thinks that maybe Shiro has finally dropped it.

He’s never that lucky.

“Winning at regionals and going to nationals is a great way to get discovered.” Shiro says, panting between words, he tuns a winning smile to Keith. “It would look great on your resume.”

Keith groans, rolling his head to the side to level a flat look at Shiro. “I know I made fun of you for being old, but now you’re seriously sounding like dad.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Am I wrong, though?”

Keith looks away and grumbles, “No…” He can practically feel Shiro’s shit eating grin, and he decidedly ignores it. “Are you just running through a pre-made list of things to say to convince me?”

“Is it that obvious?” Keith glares at him, but Shiro just laughs. “I thought it might be nice to be prepared.”

“I’m not one of your speeches, Shiro. You don’t need notecards to talk to me.”

“With how stubborn you are? I really do. It’s best to have all my important points planned out beforehand so I can fire back when you try to shoot me down.”

Keith grunts and looks away, picking up his earbud in anticipation as they near the curve at the end of the track. His body is practically humming with energy, eager to sprint again. Eager to get away from Shiro before he has a chance to further whittle away at his resolve. He can feel it weakening, and he doesn’t like it. He’s determined to stick this one out.

“At least I don’t _actually_ have notecards,” Shiro supplies, amusement in his voice. “Like I did when we were kids.”

Keith glances at him sideways, unable to hide the smirk that tilts his lips. “And I see you haven’t written it out on your arm either. You’re growing up.”

“Believe it or not, I _am_ capable of pestering you without a written list.”

“You memorized it, didn’t you?”

His smile turns sheepish, and he looks down and away before glancing at Keith sideways. “Yeah, Allura helped me.” They may be exercising, and their skin might be flushed with exertion, but Keith would have to be blind to miss the blush that tinges Shiro’s cheeks.

Seeing a way to turn this back around, Keith let’s his smirk widen. “Speaking of your girlfriend, where is she?”

Shiro’s eyes snap up to him, smile gone and lips pressed into a small frown. His blush is definitely brighter. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He tries to sound firm. Keith knows he does. And it’s an adorable attempt. But it comes out as more of a pout than anything.

Keith can’t help but throw back his head and laugh. “Whatever you say, champ. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Shiro scowls and looks away, facing forward. “Why do you assume I know where she is?”

Keith snorts. “Because you two always come to the gym together. If you’re here, she is, too.”

“After we lifted weights, she went to the erg…” He mumbled, turning away. Probably to hide his blush, but Keith can see it creeping up his neck.

Keith laughs again. “Oh my god, how _posh_ of her. Was she on the rowing team at her fancy British boarding school?” Shiro looks at him, lips pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed. He opens his mouth once, then closes it, and a variety of emotions pass over his face. Keith raises both eyebrows, positively grinning. “She _was_ , wasn’t she? Oh my god, that’s amazing.”

“Keith,” There’s definitely an exasperated whine in that voice. Keith doesn’t even feel sorry for him. If he can’t deal with the teasing, he shouldn’t dish it out to begin with.

“Sorry, Shiro, I can’t hear you.” He says, shoving the earbud back in his ear. They round the corner and they’re facing the straight side of the track. Keith looks up, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the woman who had just walked through the door. She tucks a wayward strand of white hair behind her ear as she looks around the track. Keith smirks at Shiro. “Looks like your girlfriend’s here. Wouldn’t want to lose a race to your little brother. That would be embarrassing.”

He laughs at the utter look of embarrassed horror that comes across Shiro’s face, and takes off before he hears Shiro shouting his name again. This time Shiro actually gives him a run for his money. He doesn’t know if Shiro is actually trying to impress Allura, prove to Keith that he can keep up, or if he’s actually just trying to chase Keith down so he can tackle him to the ground and put him in a headlock. Either way, he’s not willing to stick around to find out.

He pushes himself harder than before, feeling the adrenaline roaring through his veins at the chase. He flies past Allura, sending her a wild grin as he goes and seeing it reflected on her face before he’s gone. As he rounds the first curve, he glances over his shoulder, surprised to find Shiro right behind him. His face is tight with concentration. His arms are pumping at his sides as he charges forward.

Keith yelps, the sound immediately shifting to a laugh as he turns back forward, cutting the corner as tight as he can while still dodging people and without losing speed. His lungs burn, his feet barely touch the ground, and he feels a tight knot forming in his side. He doesn’t care. He keeps going. At the next turn he looks back again to find that Shiro hasn’t gained much, but he hasn’t fallen behind either.

When they pass Allura again, she’s leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed over her chest and a small smile of amusement on her lips. She gives him a little wave as he passes, and he lifts his hand in response.

He doesn’t think he drops his pace for the entirety of his three laps. He feels _alive_. They haven’t had a chase like this in _years_. It was a lot more common when they were kids, and it was usually after Keith had pushed Shiro past the breaking point of his patience. Which, by the way, is very high and Keith prides himself in the fact that he’s one of the only ones who can make his brother suffer like that.

As he rounds the last corner, he lets his run slowly and naturally wind down to a mild jog. He turns to grin over his shoulder only to find Shiro has slowed to a walk pretty far behind him. His hands are on his hips and his head tossed back as his chest heaves with heavy breaths. Keith slows to a walk and then a stop, waiting for Shiro to catch up.

His breaths are fire and his limbs are vibrating with unused energy. He needs to keep moving, but he can’t pass this up. “You’re losing your touch.” He says, pulling out his earbud as Shiro comes up beside him. They keep walking along the track, but Keith’s legs feel like jelly at the pace that’s so drastic from his previous burst of movement.

“One of these days…” He pants.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, keep dreaming.”

Shiro has alway had a much better endurance than Keith. He can go for miles and miles after Keith’s legs give out, as long as he keeps a steady pace. But Keith has always and will always surpass him in speed. When it comes to sprints and weaving through obstacles, Keith is faster. He can go longer. His body was built for that kind of endurance, that kind of push. He thrives on it. Shiro gets tired too quickly trying to catch up to Keith.

Keith isn’t saying that it was his _plan_ to tire his brother out with sprints so he couldn’t keep bothering him about the whole regionals thing, but hey, he’ll take it.

He pats Shiro on the shoulder. “I’m gonna keep running. Why don’t you go say hi to your girlfriend.”

Shiro scowls. “Keith, you said we would talk.” He says, still panting heavily.

Keith gives him a small smirk. “I said I’d think about it.” He plugs his earbud back in his ear and starts off at a slow jog, intent on completing his jog lap before doing one last sprint. Just to dissuade Shiro from following him.

“Keith—“

“ _Bye_ , Shiro!” He calls out behind him. Allura is shaking her head as he passes her.

As he completes his jogging lap, he starts sprinting again. It’s not as fun without having to actively outrun Shiro, and he’s tired himself out enough that he’s not really hitting his top speed anymore. He had done it enough now, however, that the other runners are learning to move out of his way, even if they do send him dirty looks as he passes. When he sprints past the door, he can see Shiro and Allura have gone out into the open space between the track and the weight room. They’re talking, her hand on his arm as he holds a water bottle.

He resists the urge to shake his head. He doesn’t know why his brother even tries to deny it anymore.

He only sprints for two laps before slowing to a decent run for the third, then a casual jog for the fourth, and ending with a walking lap. As he walks, he skips forward past the section of his playlist intended for sprinting songs, getting to the much more casual acoustic covers of pop songs. After his walking lap, he stops by one of the open corners of the room, outside the track itself, and starts to stretch. There’s a few people there, with mats out doing yoga or just stretching before or after a run.

He’s got his arm stretched across his chest when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He starts to turn, mouth already open to tell Shiro to just _drop it_ already, only to snap shut when he sees Allura. She’s steps around to stand in front of him, her arm across her chest to mirror his. She’s smiling widely, her hair pulled up into a monster of a pony tail that cascades down her back, and she’s wearing simple yoga pants and a loose tank top. Her dark skin glistens with sweat and yet she still manages to outshine everyone.

Keith may be gay as hell, but he’s not blind, and Allura is positively beautiful, even after spending several hours in the gym. Honestly, it’s not even fair.

Keith scowls at her, wary and suspicious. “Shiro sent you, didn’t he?” He looks over his shoulder, and sure enough, Shiro is walking the track, water bottle in hand. When he see’s Keith’s glare, he smiles and gives him a thumbs up. Keith frowns, but his attention is brought back to Allura when she gently tugs one of his earbuds out.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asks, and it’s so sweet and falsely innocent that Keith can’t say no.

“Would you leave if I said no?”

Her smile widens. “Nope.”

He shrugs, switching arms. “Guess it doesn’t matter then.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” They go through several stretches in blissful silence before she speaks again. “So… Shiro tells me you’re considering auditioning for regionals.” She says as they’re both sitting on the ground, legs stretched out in front of them, reaching for their toes. Keith is a little proud that he can wrap his hands around the toes of his shoes, which is just a little further than Allura can go.

He looks up at her, brows furrowed. “I’m not. I missed auditions.” He says flatly, leaving no room for argument.

Allura, however, looks unfazed. “He told me he suggested you and Lance try out as a duo.” Her voice is innocent, yet probing.

Keith pulls his right leg in, pressing his foot against his thigh and leaning far forward until his chest is nearly touching his leg. He uses this new position to avoid looking at her. “And that’s the worst idea my brother has ever had since he decided to put chocolate syrup on a slice of Kraft Single’s cheese.”

She throws back her head and laughs. It’s not a dainty laugh. It doesn’t sound like bells chiming in a meadow with birds chirping and the sun shining. It’s a deep bellied laugh. A real laugh that comes from down deep and one without restraint, bearing her heart and soul. Her whole face gets into it, and she still manages to be beautiful. He can see why his brother is so head over heels.

Her laugh is actually… a lot like Lance’s. That unrestrained laugh that just bursts from them, loud and unrelenting. It could be ugly, unrefined, annoying… but it’s not. It just makes them glow brighter. It’s infectious, and just make you want to hear more, to keep it going, to keep that smile on their faces.

Aaaaand now he’s comparing Lance’s laugh to _Allura’s_ , and that’s defiantly _not_ something he should be doing. Because as he’s mentioned already, Allura is _beautiful_ and Lance is… well, _Lance_.

“Well, to his credit, I think it’s a brilliant idea.” She says when her laughter subsides.

Keith ignores meeting her eyes and her smile by switching legs and practically laying down in his stretch. “It’s a terrible idea, Allura. Don’t encourage him.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Keith! Think about it—“

“I have, and the answer is no.”

“—You both missed auditions, but duo auditions are still coming up. As Shiro said, you’re both _more_ than capable of putting together a routine by then. You’re both amazingly talented, and I have no doubt that you two could go far. You both have so much chemistry.” Keith tilts his head back far enough to make a face up at her, and she chuckles, winking. “Trust me, I know about these things.” Her eyes automatically drift away from him toward the track, and her expression softens. He knows without having to turn around that she’s looking at Shiro. He supposes she _does_ have a point there. Her and Shiro have _amazing_ chemistry on, and off, the dance floor. On this, however, she is definitely wrong.

Keith snorts, bringing her attention back to him. “Sorry, Allura, but if we have chemistry, it’s the kind that blows the roof off the lab and causes everyone to die in a fire.”

Her smile widens, and there’s a sparkle of amusement in her eyes that he doesn’t appreciate. “That’s the best kind. If you guys can just focus your energies, I _know_ you can make a good team.”

Keith is already shaking his head. He pulls both his legs toward him, feet together, and rests his hands on his ankles, using his elbows to push his knees down. He leans forward, feeling the stretch in his thighs.

“Shiro said he had you guys dance together yesterday. He said you were really good!”

Keith glares up at her from behind his bangs, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he looks away, staring at the ground. “You weren’t there, Allura.” He grumbles. “He’s… unprofessional. It started out great, but then he just… I don’t know, said he was _improvising_ or whatever, and stopped doing the right dance. That might work fine as a solo act, but that is _not_ going to get us anywhere. Not if he can’t or won’t follow directions. He’s not even that _good_!” Allura is chuckling, and he lifts his head, glaring at her. “What?”

“Alright, that last part I _know_ is a lie. Lance is a fantastic dancer. He just has a… strong personality.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “That’s what Shiro said, and it’s an understatement. He’s cocky, needlessly competitive, and insufferable.”

“Okay, so ignore how it ended and tell me about the part where it started out great.”

Keith groans and leans forward to rest his forehead on the ground.

“Keeeith, come on, you can tell me, you know.” She reaches forward to pat his head. “I won’t even tell Shiro, promise.”

He groans again. “It was… great. He was able to keep up with me, and everything was the right angle, and it was… I don’t know, fun, sort of….”

“Ah ha—“

“No!” Keith snaps sitting up quickly to level a glare at her. “No, you don’t get it. It was good for about thirty seconds before he started fucking up. I _can’t_ work with someone who can’t keep up with the choreography.”

“But he _can_. You said so yourself.”

“But he _doesn’t_ , and that’s the problem.”

“So you’re saying if we could get him to take it seriously, there wouldn’t be a problem?”

“I—“ He blinks. “That’s not—“

“And if we can get Lance to agree, you would audition for regionals with him?”

“I did not say that.” He scowls, his lip curling as he leans back, regarding Allura. “You’re devious.”

Her smile never falters as she tilts her head to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I suddenly fear for my brother.”

She rolls her eyes and then shifts to the side, getting her knees under her. “Tell you what, shall we make a little wager?”

He raises one eyebrow, suddenly suspicious. “What kind of wager?” He asks slowly.

“A plank off.” She puts her hands on her hips, regarding him thoughtfully. “We both plank, first one to give up, loses. If I win, you have to promise to actually, _seriously_ consider giving Lance a chance.”

“Allura, I don’t—“

She holds up a finger, cutting him off. “Let me elaborate. You have to _talk_ to him. About dancing together, specifically. Have a civil conversation with him.”

Keith gets the feeling that he’s not getting out of this. Shiro might be stubborn, but Allura is relentless. If he wants to have his way, he’s going to have to play her game. He shifts onto his knees, crossing his arms over his chest. “What if I win?”

“You won’t.” She says with a smirk and a glint in her bright blue eyes.

“Humor me.” He deadpans.

She shrugs. “What do you want?”

“If I win, neither you or Shiro are allowed to mention regionals or dancing with Lance again. And that _includes_ trying to get others to convince me.”

She holds out a hand. “Deal.”

He takes her hand, and her long, slender fingers curl around his with surprising strength. He glances at her exposed arms before his eyes slide to her face. He doesn’t like the wicked smirk he sees there. He sets his face into a grim mask of determination as he drops her hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

They both immediately take up planking positions on their hands and toes, backs straight. His positioning is perfect, and he knows this. He’s not a stranger to planks and push ups, and he’s got the stamina to prove it. He feels the familiar tightening in his core, the strain in his arms, and he settles into it. This is as familiar to him as sprinting, and he’ll enjoy the burn while Allura caves. Then he’ll never have to hear about auditions or regionals or duos or _Lance_ ever again.

Ten minutes later, Keith is starting to realize that Allura may not actually cave as easily or as quickly as he had hoped.

He has his head tilted up and to the side a fraction, and he’s glaring at Allura from beneath his bangs. She’s meeting his eyes, and she still has that shit eating smirk on her lips that just screams confidence. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, but they’re glinting with determination and the fire of a challenge.

Keith is seriously regretting his decision right about now.

He can feel the quiver in his gut and the slight shake in his knees that tells him that he’s starting to reach his tolerance, but he refuses to give up. Not when Allura is practically grinning at him like she’s already won. He gives her one last scowl and looks down, keeping his spine straight to help alleviate some of the pressure. They’re silent, at least, and he’s grateful for that. He focuses on his breathing and clearing his mind, pushing past any protests his body is making.

He’s not sure how much time has passed. The people around them in the corner come and go. He tilts his head to the side slightly so he can watch people on the track. Anything to keep his mind off of the task at hand. He watches them go around and around. The center of the track is open, looking down on the basket ball courts on the floor below. The sounds of sneakers squeaking across the gym floor and balls bouncing echoes and blurs with shouts and conversation. His music is still playing in one ear, giving him another distraction.

“How are you holding up?” Allura’s voice is unwelcome.

“Fine.” He grunts, clenching his teeth.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaky.”

“I’m _fine_.” He says again, voice hard. He’s not fine and he knows it. His arms are shaking now, as are his legs. There’s a burn in his gut that’s gone from pleasant to unbearable. Still he holds it.

“Honestly, you have lasted a lot longer than I expected. I am impressed.” She sounds genuinely impressed, and not at all condescending or mocking. Still, he grunts and lifts his head to glare at her, lips pressed tight in concentration. He can see her arms are shaking, too, but her expression is unworried and confident and honestly she looks a lot more sturdy than he feels.

God fuck, he should have known. He expected her to be good, but he had been sure that he’s better.

She catches his eye, and somehow her smirk turns mischievous. “Ready to give up?”

“Not even close.” He says, and he’s not lying. He’s not ready to give up. Is his body about to give up _on him_ , however, is a completely different question. He thinks he can still last several more minutes though, if he really focuses and ignores her. He’s just got to focus on his breathing, which has started to get strained. He focuses on breathing in through his nose, and out through his mouth. He leans his head back down to face the ground and closes his eyes. _Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in_.

“Why don’t you just admit you _want_ an excuse to talk to Lance again?”

Keith’s eyes shoot open and his head whips up to stare at her. “What—“ His arms give out and his core muscles relax. He falls to his knees, barely catching himself before his chin hits the ground. He sits up straight, eyes wild. “Allura, what the fuck was that?!”

She lowers herself to her knees with a slight sigh, sitting up a lot more gracefully than he had. She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side. “That was me winning.”

“Wha— you—“ He sputters, waving his hands around and grasping the air as he searches for words. “You cheated!”

She laughs. “How did I cheat? I just asked you a question! Why, does mentioning him make you flustered?” She leans forward, tilting her chin downward a fraction and waggling her eyebrows.

Keith presses his lips firmly together, feeling the telltale warmth rise up his neck to take up residence on his cheeks. He has nothing to say to that. There’s nothing he _can_ say without making it worse. He huffs and looks away, pushing himself to his feet. “Whatever, I’m out of here.”

His legs are shaky as he walks away, and he tries his best not to stumble or fall on his face as he stomps toward the door. “Don’t forget about our wager!” She calls out behind him. “You should talk to him!”

“I’ll think about it.” He says without turning around.

“You know you want to!”

“I do not!” He snaps, perhaps a little too loudly. He yanks the door open and steps into the hall. He can hear Allura’s laugh echoing behind him, and his ears feel like they’re on fire.

He stomps down the stairs, leaning heavily on the handrail to keep his balance as his legs protested the movement. His gut feels like it was on fire, and he blames it solely on the planking. It has nothing to do with what Allura had said, because he _refuses_ to consider it a possibility. She was just trying to get under his skin so she could win. And it had worked.

He meant what he had said: he’s starting to fear for his brother.

The locker room is mostly empty when he gets there, and he’s glad. He goes to his usual locker, off and out of the way in the corner, and rips it open, pulling out his water bottle. He tilts his head back, guzzling it until he feels it dripping down his chin. Wiping off his mouth, he gasps for air and sits down heavily on the bench in front of his locker. His muscles are still screaming in protest. Usually it’s a sign of a good work out, but right now he’s not really feeling the afterglow. He knows he should have done more of a cool down, but he just wanted to get away from Allura, and the men’s locker room is the perfect place for that.

He rests his elbow on his knees and leans forward, letting his head hang. He stares at his shoes absently. He _had_ made that wager with Allura, and he _had_ lost. But he _really_ doesn’t want to talk to Lance. He isn’t even sure he _can_ have a civil conversation with the guy. He’s just so… cocky, and smug, and his fucking shit eating grin does weird things to Keith’s chest. He gets under his skin. He’s not sure he can trust Lance to be civil, and he’s definitely not sure he can trust himself to be civil.

But… if he talks to Lance, and confirms that the guy’s an asshole, then they can’t blame him and they can’t fault him for not trying. Besides, he didn’t agree to actually dancing with him, he only agreed to consider it, and maybe talk to him.

Ugh, since when did coming to the gym get this complicated? He comes here to _forget_ his problems for a while, not get new ones. He needs to start finding out when Shiro and Allura are coming to the gym so he can make sure _not_ to be here.

He groans, running a hand through his hair and resting his forehead in his palm. How the fuck is he even supposed to approach Lance? What the hell is he supposed to say? They both made their opinions on the matter quite clear, and he really doesn’t think Lance wants to see him anytime soon. Or ever…

The clench in his gut is definitely from the twenty minute planking session with Allura. He’s sure of it.

“I’ve never seen someone hold out that long against Allura.”

Ah, of course. He should have expected this. The men’s locker room is safe from Allura, but it’s not safe from his brother. He groans loudly, but doesn’t lift his head. “Go _away_ , Shiro.”

“Nope,” He sits down heavily on the bench next to him, leaning back against the lockers. “Seriously, though, I thought for a minute there that you might beat her.”

“Your girlfriend is a monster and you sicked her on me. What kind of brother are you?”

“The kind that’s trying to get you past your own stubbornness.”

Keith snorts. “By using your own.”

“It’s for your own good.”

“I’ve heard that line before.”

“Have I ever been wrong?”

Keith is silent for a moment, before he sighs and lets out a reluctant, “No…” He sits up and leans against the lockers, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling while his hands hang between his legs.

“So you admit I might be right about this? That duoing with Lance might be good for you?”

Keith’s eyes narrow at the ceiling panels. He frowns. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Do you admit it?”

He sighs. “Maybe.”

Shiro leans over to nudge his shoulder with his own. “So are you going to go through with it? The bet you made with Allura?”

Keith rolls his head to the side, still leaning against the lockers as he glares up at the older man. “I knew you were in on this.”

Shiro isn’t even trying to hide his smile. He shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against Keith’s. “She said if she couldn’t convince you to see reason, she would use your competitive spirit against you.”

“She’s devious.” Keith deadpans.

Shiro nods. “I know.”

“I fear for you.”

At that he laughs. “I fear for myself sometimes. So are you going to do it?”

Keith sighs, looking down at the water bottle in his hands. “I don’t know…”

“He’s a good guy, Keith. If you get to know him, I’m sure you two would get along.” Keith snorts, but Shiro continues. “He doesn’t dance well with others, but neither do you.” He says gentle, but there’s that edge of the patented Big Brother Voice. He can hear it seeping in. “This would be a good opportunity for you both to prove you _can_ work well with others. You’ll both need to if you want to get anywhere with dance.”

Keith exhales heavily through his nose because he knows Shiro is right. Shiro is _always_ right. He has some very valid points, that would, under normal circumstances, actually be fairly convincing, but… why does it have to be _Lance_ of all people?

Shiro stands then, stretching his arms over his head. Then he puts a hand on one shoulder and rotates that arm. “Well, if you decide to go through with it, he should be in the park with Hunk and Pidge for the next couple of hours.”

Keith looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “How do you know that?”

Shiro shrugs, grinning as he crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s Tuesday.” He says, like that answer should have been obvious.

Keith’s brow furrows. “Shiro, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Shiro shrugs again, and lightly prods Keith’s shoe with his own. “Just go check them out. They’re quite fun to watch.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t go.” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest, pressing his lips into a frown.

Shiro looks at him with that soft, trusting expression of his, a small smile on his lips. “I know you’ll make the right decision.” And great, there goes the Big Brother Guilt, too. He’s not going to fall for it. That’s manipulation and he’s above that.

“I’m not going.” He says flatly.

“Keith, please.” And then Shiro’s expression drops, his lip pouts, and his eyes are wide, and— oh, fuck no. Keith is _not_ falling for the puppy dog eyes. He practically _invented_ that trick.

“Shiro,” He deadpans. “The puppy dog eye trick won’t work on me. I’ve used that on mom and dad since I was five. I used it on _you_ all the time. I’m immune to it.”

“Keith…” How is it even fair for him to mix his Big Brother Guilt voice with the puppy dog look? It’s not fair. Not at all. He’s realizing that his brother is _just_ as devious as Allura is. Maybe he should fear for her. No, scratch that. He should fear for everyone else. _Especially_ himself. Together they make a team that’s impossible to say no to.

Keith groans, tilting his head back to bang loudly against the locker. “Fiiiine, but if I talk to him and he’s an asshole, you have to drop this whole thing and accept it’s not going to happen.”

“Deal.” He’s already grinning like he’s won, and Keith hates it. He glares, but Shiro is unaffected. “Just go to the park. You won’t regret it.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lance hits play and sets the phone down by the speaker. His hips are already canting to one side with the beat, his head nodding along, when he sees a small hand reach for the phone. He promptly reaches out and slaps it away. “Pidge, no.”

Pidge snatches their hand back, scowling as they cross their arms over their chest. They glare at him, weight shifted to one hip. “Lance, it’s _my_ phone.”

“And we don’t change the song when Shakira is playing.” He chastises, one hand on his hip and the other waggling his finger at Pidge in time with the beat.

Pidge rolls their eyes. “One of these days, you’ll let me skip Shakira.”

Lance smirks letting his arms hang at his sides as he moves his hips, stepping around in a slow circle with one foot with each kick of the drum. “Never, Pidge. Never. Shakira is _tradition_.” He’s slowly shifting away from the speaker. He knows Pidge won’t touch it now. They try every time but always give up after Lance gets started.

“It’s only tradition because you insist on it every time.” Hunk says. He’s standing a few feet away, stretching an arm over his chest while he props the balls of one foot up against a bench, leaning forward to stretch his calf at the same time.

“It’s my warm-up, Hunk.” Lance says, dancing away from them with every step.

Pidge snorts, adjusting the volume on the speaker. “Since when do you warm-up?”

Lance grins. “You’re right, I’m just hot all the time. Thank you, Pidge.” He puts his arms straight up in the air, back to Pidge, swinging his hip heavily to the side with every downbeat. Then he snaps his hands to his hips and whips his head around to look at Pidge over his shoulder. “ _Dance or die_.” He sings, voice overly low and husky.

“Oh my god.” Pidge sighs dramatically, rolling their eyes and getting their whole head into it. But there’s a smile on their face that betrays the exasperation they’re trying to portray. And when Lance holds out his hand, waggling his eyebrows as he starts to sing along in Spanish, Pidge obligingly steps forward to take it.

He spins them around, and they end facing each other. They dance together while Lance rattles off the lyrics to _Loca_. One hand holding their’s, Lance leads them through several quick steps, forward and back, side to side. He spins them occasionally, and Pidge is good enough and has done this enough to go with his lead. They swing their hips, and it doesn’t take long before Pidge is just as into it as Lance is. It’s a lot different from their preferred style, but Pidge is nothing if not adaptable, and the quick jerking movements of feet and hips combined with the more fluid motions of arms is right up their alley.

He swings them around, and they go with it. He sweeps them in close, spinning them with an arm around their waist and the other outstretched. Pidge laughs, and Lance smirks through the lyrics. Hunk continues to stretch on the sidelines, grinning at the two of them and laughing as Lance turns his back to Pidge and they drop down. He reaches between his legs to pull them between and up. They hop up and twist so they’re facing each other again, and they do a few quick salsa-like steps.

They’re already drawing eyes and a small crowd. They’re well known around here. As long as it’s not raining, they’re out here every Tuesday. And assuming everyone’s schedules have an opening for it, they’re out here a lot of weekends for an hour or two. They usually claim a spot somewhere around the large square with tight stone paving and a fountain in the center. It gives them plenty of room to move without blocking too much foot traffic.

Per usual, they’ve set up their speaker on one of the benches lining the square and hooked up Pidge’s phone via auxiliary cable. While they dance, Lance sees Hunk moving out of the corner of his eye, setting up their usual bucket, painted with galaxies and stars, with brightly colored lions flying around. It’s ridiculous, but Lance loves it. Hunk sets the bucket a little off to the side of their dance space with a sign that reads ‘Donations Welcome’.

He hears the song coming to an end. He gives Pidge one last dramatic spin, spinning himself so that they end back to back, arms crossed over their chests. The music fades, and there’s a couple of claps from the people that’ve been watching. Lance gives them a dramatic bow.

“Thank god that’s over.” Pidge says, already peeling themselves away from Lance to go back to their phone.

“You had fun, Pidge.” Lance says, straightening and turning on his heel to face them. His hands are on his hips and a wide smile on his lips.

“No.” They say, thumb tapping on the screen.

“Admit it. You _like_ dancing to Shakira with me.”

“I was humoring you.” Music starts up, and Lance assumes it’s the new playlist Pidge’s brother has created for them. They set down their phone and start back toward Lance.

“I know you had fun,” His smile brightens, and he waggles his eyebrows. “Your hips don’t lie, Pidge.”

They groan, dramatically slapping their face and dragging their hand down their cheek. “Why are you like this?”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, now get out of here so I can dance.” They say as they shove Lance away from the wide open space they’ve created.

He laughs, stumbling away. “Why do _you_ get to start?”

Pidge sets themselves up, back to the speakers and rolling their shoulders, shaking out their limbs. They send a cocky smirk over their shoulder. “Because it’s tradition.”

Alright, they’ve got him there. Lance comes to a stop beside Hunk and crosses his arms over his chest, throwing back his head to laugh. “Whatever you say, princess!”

Hunk snorts. “Lance, please, we all know _you’re_ the princess here.”

He makes a loud, exaggerated noise of mock offense, leaning away from Hunk and putting a hand to his chest. “ _Excuse_ me?” Hunk eyes sideways, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Lance holds his offended face for all of three seconds before he snorts and elbows Hunk’s arm. “I’m totally the handsome, charming prince.” Hunk snorts. “Don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful, Hunk.”

“Besides,” Pidge says, stretching their arms over their head. The intro to the song is still building, and the heel of their foot is already tapping to the beat. “We all know I’d be the wizard in the tower that holds all the power.” The glint in their eyes as they glance over their shoulder is down right maniacal.

Lance leans in close to Hunk and whispers loudly, “Did you get just shivers?”

Hunk whispers back just as loudly. “Don’t let them hear you. They feed off of fear.”

Pidge throws back their head and laughs, dropping their arms to their sides. Then the beat drops, kicking the volume up and Pidge is moving.

Lance likes to watch all his friends dance. He can really see their personalities and their spirits come out. But Pidge in particular is fun to watch. Their movements are so… precise yet fluid. They move like their limbs are animatronic, with stiff, jerking movements that Lance has a hard time believe a human should be able to do. And then within a couple of beats, they’re moving like their bones have been replaced with liquid, only to snap back into those short, sharp, movements. There’s big movements and small ones, all moving together and meshing like a working of gears.

Pidge has taught him a few things, and he likes to think he’s pretty good at them. He can incorporate a lot of moves into his own dancing. But he’ll never be at Pidge’s level.

There are some cheers from their small audience at some of Pidge’s more impressive moves, the kind they really shouldn’t be able to do, and he can see a small smirk on Pidge’s face. They’re not as outwardly cocky like he is, but they know they’re good and they revel in the praise. He knows the crowd is just going to get bigger from here. People come and stop and move on, but the longer they go, the more people hang around. They usually end the day with quite a few donations, too.

It’s not about the money, though. It’s just about having fun. They started out just dancing in the park. It’s outside and a nice change from spending all their time in Altea, plus they like having an audience. What dancer doesn’t? Then people started giving them donations, so they figured they should get a bucket. The decorations were Lance’s idea. Lions in space? Genius.

The music is a lot like Matt’s usual stuff. It’s a lot of pop music and other popular songs mixed together, and more often than not with dubstep beats. He leans heavily toward dubstep, which makes sense. Pidge likes dancing to dubstep, and Matt likes creating music for them. They probably grew up developing their tastes together, and it just happened to work out this way. Lance and Hunk don’t mind it. Matt usually makes good music, and he usually makes good variety playlists for them to play while they freestyle in the park.

“Do the robot!” Lance shouts from the sideline.

Pidge rolls their arm out, outstretching it toward him and looking like a liquid wave. It jerks to a stop with their middle finger pointed up. Lance bends over and laughs, before using his momentum of leaning over to stumble forward a few steps.

“Alright, iRobot, take it back.” He says, catching his balance and sliding forward in a few much more graceful and in time steps. “Lemme show you how it’s done.” He stops in front of Pidge, pulling off a few jerking movements to act like a robot kicking them out.

Pidge chuckles and breaks off, stumbling away to give the floor to Lance.

And boy, does he take the floor.

 _This_ is what Lance needs. _This_. The feeling of just being able to kick back with friends and _dance_. Dance for himself, not for any particular routine, not for auditions. He’s got an audience, yeah, and he’s trying to impress, but it’s still just for him. He knows most people watching can’t really dance, so whatever he does will look impressive. He feeds off the adrenaline of it, off the thrill of it.

His dance this time is much different from his hip shaking warm-up with his girl Shakira. He’s keeping with Pidge’s theme, but throwing in a lot of his own Lance flair. Bigger movements, hops and slides, more movements with his arms that aren’t anywhere near animatronic. He gets a couple cheers and grins at the group of teens passing by, fitting a little salute into his dance.

He’s already feeling lighter than he has in days. And _definitely_ lighter than he has since yesterday. His chest doesn’t feel tight anymore, and Keith’s face isn’t haunting his mind. _Keith_ , and his too-cool-for-school attitude, his better-than-you looks, his stupid mullet and pretty eyes. The way his body moves perfectly to choreography like he was made for it. He doesn’t lose himself in it like Lance does. He stays focused, body moving freely but exactly the way it needs to.

Maybe Keith is a robot, too.

 _If_ Lance had to admit it, he would say Keith is a good dancer. Probably never to Keith’s face, but maybe to like… Shiro or Allura or Hunk. Definitely not to Pidge. Keith _is_ a good dancer. Lance isn’t blind. But what Shiro had suggested… Lance has a track record with not working well in official duos. Dancing with his friends in the park is one thing. Goofing off is one thing. But actually coordinating a routine for a competition? That isn’t Lance’s forte. He prefers to have the outline of a dance prepared, then leave himself room to improvise and feed off the crowd.

That, he’s been told, doesn’t work well when he’s dancing with others. And now he’s got proof that it _really_ doesn’t work with Keith.

He can still see the hostile looks Keith had been sending him, the annoyed tilt to his voice. It was… more than usual. And yeah, Lance fucked up and missed auditions, but it wasn’t his fault! And it was more of a big deal to Lance than it was to Keith. Keith _had_ his chance to audition, and he blew it because… because… hell, Lance doesn’t even know _why_ but it pisses him off to think about.

 _Keith_ pisses him off. When he thinks about him, his gut clenches and he feels a tightness in his chest that’s hard to get rid of. Anytime Lance isn’t busy, he finds himself thinking about it. It gets him all worked up and he just wants to— to— punch a wall or something.

The worst part, honestly, is that Lance thinks it might… actually be fun to dance with Keith.

He’ll never admit that though. Not to anyone, and barely to himself. And usually when he admits it to himself, it’s immediately followed up with all the reasons for why it _wouldn’t_ be fun. Like the fact that Keith is an ass. Keith thinks he’s better than him. Keith doesn’t think he’s a good enough dancer to keep up with him.

That… that thought kinda hurts, and the worst part is he doesn’t know _why_. He shouldn’t _care_ what Keith thinks of him. He usually doesn’t when it comes to random people who have no real impact on his life. But Keith… he hates that his only lasting impressions have been bad. He hates that he really just wanted to impress Keith, prove to him that Lance _is_ good enough to be his rival. But every time he tries, he just fucks up.

He keeps fucking up around Keith, and he hates it.

And now Keith just thinks he’s some douche canoe who can’t dance. He’s made it clear that he wants nothing to do with Lance. And you know what? That’s fine. Totally fine. Two can play this game, and they _will_ , because Lance wants nothing to do with _him_ either. Lance doesn’t need to be hung up on a guy who doesn’t understand. He’s got a stick up his perfect Adonis ass anyway. They can’t work together, that much is clear, and they’ve missed their chance to dance against each other.

So now Lance will just forget about it, let it the fuck _go_. He hates Lance, and Lance doesn’t need that negativity in his life. Keith is an ass, and Lance hates him. Fuck that guy.

Except now Lance is thinking about him, and that weird tight feeling is in his chest again, and he feels his smile fading, and his stomach is just in knots. He’s still moving, because he can’t stop the beat. He’s a slave to it. But he isn’t feeling it like he was a minute ago.

But then Hunk, blessed, amazing Hunk, comes to his rescue. He doesn’t know if his best friend was sensing his shift in mood, or if he just decided it’s his turn to dance, but Hunk is suddenly there. He hooks an arm in Lance’s, then turns so their backs are pressed together. He’s reaching with his other arm, and Lance is already there, holding out his arm so Hunk can hook those two together as well.

Hunk leans back, and Lance crouches forward.

“Ready, buddy?” Hunk asks.

“Lift off!”

Hunk bends forward at the same time Lance jumps. He flips over Hunk’s back, feeling a moment of weightlessness before he lands firmly on his feet, facing Hunk. They both laugh and put up their hands, almost like their about to fight. they shift from side to side in time with the beat, getting their legs and feet into it, to hit their forearms together. Once, twice, and then Lance is skipping backwards, pointing at Hunk as he spins on one heel, other leg extended and arms bent, hands in the air.

The song changes, and true to Matt Holt form, there’s barely a break in the music. In fact, if there hadn’t been a change in beat, Lance wouldn’t have even noticed it changed at all. This one, however, is a lot more fitting for Hunk. Higher energy, louder beats. Lance is starting to suspect Hunk had known about the playlists’s change coming.

When it comes right down to it, Hunk almost seems like the complete opposite of Pidge. Physically, he’s much bigger than Pidge, taller and heftier. But it’s more than that. Pidge’s dance style is controlled and contained. Every movement is deliberate and calculated. All of their energy is used with laser focus, executing exactly what move their mind summons up. When it comes to Hunk, he doesn’t lack for control. In fact, he’s just as controlled as Pidge is, but with a much more… let loose Lance flair.

His movements are wide and big, and he throws everything into them. A lot of his dance comes from his limbs, arms and legs being thrown out, twisting to a constant and repetitive rhythm. His body is the center of his momentum, a control center that moves and gyrates with the music, being thrown side to side and rolling with a mobility and flexibility that most don’t expect from him. His energy is high and wild, moving rapidly and with purpose, but always within his control and always immediately able to roll into the next move.

Where Pidge’s movements have some spontaneity with how they move, keeping the audience constantly on edge and waiting for what happens next, Hunk likes patterns. He likes movements that you see coming, that repeat for several beats before changing it up. But somehow he keeps it interesting. It’s the smile on his face, the little personal flairs he throws up, the creative moves that are all him. He pulls people in, keeps their attention, makes them cheer and crave more. It’s welcoming and warm and he’s always been the best at getting the audience to dance, too.

Lance likes dancing with Hunk. They have a lot of fun with it, and Lance can match his energy, his spontaneity, his smiles and goofiness. Like Pidge, however, Hunk doesn’t like actually dancing duos with Lance. When it comes to competitions, he likes patterns and he likes choreography.

He and Pidge, despite their drastically different styles, actually work really well together. Even if they have their strengths, they’re both adaptable. Hunk brings up Pidge’s energy. Pidge helps keep Hunk contained. Hunk can throw Pidge around, and they trust each other enough to do some crazy shit. It always appeals to the audience, and even when they don’t place, they usually win fan favorites.

Lance would never have that kind of chemistry with Keith…

But he’s not thinking about Keith right now, cause this is bro time and bro time isn’t the time to think about assholes.

After a couple minutes, Pidge darts into the open space. A loose circle is starting to form around them. Pidge stops in front of hunk, doing a few quick steps before spinning and gliding from side to side like their shoes have no traction on the stone bricks. Hunk concedes the dance floor to them, and backs up to stand next to Lance.

And that’s how the next hour passes. They take turns pushing each other out of the circle, but never in any specific order. It’s usually whenever they’re feeling the music hit them. Some songs are better suited to some of their styles than others, but overall, Matt’s new playlist is gold. They even get a few questions about the music, and they hand out some of Matt’s DJ business cards.

There’s a few times some of the audience members get involved, and they laugh and encourage them to dance. They don’t mind, and it makes things more fun. It’s rarely a case of some douche trying to one up them, and more like people really just getting into the spirit and enjoying themselves. Hunk gets a gaggle of kids to join at some point and has them hold onto his biceps as he spins around. They get a couple of dudes who know some breakdancing moves, and they have a good time exchanging moves with Lance. Even a young kid jumps in to join Pidge, matching their style perfectly as the two duke it out in short lived battle while Lance chants, ‘Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots’ in the background.

They’re even getting a fair amount of donations as well. And to top it all off, Lance hasn’t thought about Keith in who knows how long. Not at all. Keith is far from his mind. He’s just laughing and having fun with friends and letting this new music just fucking rock his soul and move his body. He’s interacting with the crowd because he’s a people person like that, and it makes it more fun. He loves the mini dance offs. He loves when the kids get excited. He loves showing off for an audience that actually _appreciates_ what he does. Unlike a certain mullet toting individual he could mention.

He’s just pushed Hunk out of the circle and is doing a few quick steps from side to side, really getting his hips into it, when he spots a flash of black hair.

His heart instant stops in his chest, his lungs tightening, before his heart rate sky rockets. His eyes snap up, and he’s able to breathe again. It’s not Keith. Not that he thought it would be Keith. Not that he’s thinking about Keith, because this has been declared a No Keith Zone. He spies a girl with shoulder length black hair standing around their loose circle with two of her friends. All three of them are attractive and beautiful, and _helloooooo there_.

Putting on his best charming smirk, Lance half dances and half saunters over to them. He does a few quick dance moves, ending in a spin as he flashes them a winning smile and finger guns. One is scowling, one is hiding her face in her hands, and the other giggles. Well, one out of three isn’t bad. He holds out his hand, still dancing, and motions for them to join him. They exchange looks, and he knows those looks. Rejection, once again. It’s not too strange though. Not everyone has the confidence to dance in front of a crowd like this, especially with a stranger.

Besides, in a situation like this, turning down a dance doesn’t mean he’s being shot down all together. So he tries again, just to be nice, and when they firmly reject his offer a second time, he slaps a hand to his chest, putting on a look of surprise as he stumbles backwards. He purposefully falls onto his ass, using his momentum to roll onto his back. His feet follow the movement, going up and over his shoulder as he rolls backwards. As he goes, he puts his hands behind him and uses the momentum to turn his backwards roll up into a handstand.

There’s a lot of oo’s and aa’s from the crowd and he’s feeding off of it. He holds the position for several seconds, just to prove that he can, before he bends his legs and comes gracefully back down to his feet.

As soon as he’s upright, he’s moving again. He decides to roll with the whole breakdancing theme he’s already set himself up for. The music is ripe for it. He scuttles around, setting himself up to go down on his hands and do a few quick maneuvers on his hands and feet. He can hear the crowd egging him on, and he loves it. Break dancing has always been a crowd pleaser. He sees a couple of kids hanging onto their parents hands and practically jumping up and down, their eyes alight with excitement. He grins and laughs, because he loves when people enjoy his dancing. When he can give someone a good show and make their day.

Fuck Keith and his no nonsense attitude. Lance doesn’t need to impress him. He’s got an appreciative audience right here!

The group of girls is still watching, so he shoots them some finger guns and wink, grinning when they giggle. He doesn’t know if it’s with him or at him, but he’ll take it. He drops to his right side, planting his hand to the ground and kicking his legs up over his body. His right leg remains bent and left leg is extended, he reaches up with this left hand to touch his toes. It’s a classic move and a crowd pleaser. Not everyone can hold this form while balancing on one hand, and he knows it. He smirks at the audience.

But it’s in those few seconds that he’s holding the pose, in those few seconds where his eyes scan the crowd, smirking and feeding off of the reactions he sees. It’s in those few seconds that he spots a head of dark hair that is _definitely_ shaped like a mullet. And he’d know that mullet anywhere.

His eyes pass over him before snapping back, widening as he feels his smirk fall.

 _Keith_. That is definitely, indisputably _Keith_ standing there. In the circle of people. Arms crossed over his chest, weight shifted onto one hip. But far from the usual impassive scowl, he’s _smiling_. Well, smiling might be a strong word. But his expression is soft, his posture relaxed, and his lips are curved upward at the edges. And that expression is happening while his eyes are on _Lance_.

It takes his breath away. Literally. For a moment his chest tightens and he forgets how to breathe, his air locking up in his throat. His heart probably skips a beat, too, but he barely notices. His stomach is caught between twisting and fluttering, and he doesn’t know if it’s pleasant or unpleasant.

For a full second, their eyes lock. He sees the moment Keith realizes he’s been seen. He sees how his eyes widen a fraction, his smile relaxing and lips parting every so slightly. His vague amusement is gone, replaced but surprise. Lance isn’t sure what expression he’s making, his face feels numb, but he’s pretty sure it’s something similar. Although it’s probably tinged with a dash of horror because in that one second, he feels himself lose control. His balance shifts as he’s distracted, and he can feel the moment his stomach lurches and he knows he’s going to fall.

He tears his eyes away from Keith as he falls onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut with a soft groan. He doesn't hit that hard. He knows how to take a fall. Knows how to do it without hurting himself, even if it _looks_ bad from the outside. Dancing can be dangerous, and he _really_ can't afford a hospital bill.

There’s a collective pained sound from the audience, but he barely hears it. His mind is too full of chaos and loud thoughts that border on screams. _Keith. Keith is here. Red alert, he’s HERE. And you just fucked up again. He saw the whole thing. Way to go, cool kid. Time to run away. Run FAR away, where no one knows your name, start over, new friends, new life, let’s go._

He opens his eyes, staring up at the late afternoon sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. It’s such a beautiful day. He had been looking forward to this. To hanging out with his friends and letting loose and just _forgetting_ about _Keith_. And it had been working! To some extent. But here he is. Ruining everything. And now all those terrible feelings that he had finally managed to let go were back.

God, why is he _here_? And why does Lance _always_ manage to do something embarrassing when he’s around? Why does the universe hate him so? No fucking wonder Keith thinks he’s an idiot.

Normally, when he falls, he just rolls with it and recovers, going into some other move or posing, smirk on his lips for the audience. This time, however, all he can do is lay on his back, knees bent, arms flailed out at his sides. His face feels like it’s on fire.

Thankfully, Pidge comes to his rescue. Sweet, sweet, angelic Pidge. Sweet, amazing, beautiful Pidge. Pidge is a real bro. One of the best. Best Bros for Life.

There’s a blur of green and copper brown hair out of the corner of his eye as Pidge sprints toward him. They jump when they reach his head, leaping over his body to land between Lance’s feet. They hold out a hand, giving Lance a small, secretive smile. He sends his own thankful one back as he grabs their hand. With a strength that always surprises him, Pidge yanks Lance to his feet. Once he’s upright again, they playfully kick his ass to push him away from the center of the circle so they can take over.

Lance laughs as he stumbles back to Hunk, but it feels forced. When he gets there, he crosses his arms over his chest, watching Pidge as he gathers the courage to look at Keith again.

When he does finally manage to flick his eyes up and over Pidge to the spot where he knows Keith is standing, he’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved to find he’s not looking at him. His eyes are on Pidge, and the small smile is back, but Lance can’t help but notice his face isn’t as soft and unguarded as it was before.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Lance asks, leaning closer to Hunk.

Hunk, who had been laughing and clapping along with the audience to encourage Pidge, blinks and looks at Lance before trying to follow his gaze around the audience. “Who?”

“ _Him_.” Lance hisses, lifting his chin to gesture toward Keith.

Hunk still looks lost. “Sorry, buddy, I don’t see who you’re—“

“ _Keith!_ ”

Hunk follows his gaze once more before settling. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops into small circle of understanding as he whispers. “oooooh, Keith, right. Him.”

“Yes, _him_.” Lance holds his arms tighter around himself and lifts his shoulders. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

“Probably enjoying the park.”

“There’s plenty of park that isn’t _right here_!”

“We kind of attract attention, dude.”

“So?”

“Is he the reason you fell just now?”

Lance’s shoulders drop and he leans away from Hunk, tearing his glare away from Keith to gape at Hunk. Bewilderment written across his features. “Wha— Uh, _no_. I just lost my balance!”

Hunk pats him on the shoulder, nodding. “Uh huh, I believe you, buddy.”

Lance scowls at him. “Hunk! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He nods again. “I _am_ on your side.”

Lance isn’t convinced. He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re on my side, then go get him out of here! He’s throwing off my groove!”

Hunk throws back his head and laughs. Then he puts up both hands, holding them palms out defensively as he cowers away from Lance. “Oh no! Beware the groove!”

Lance rolls his eyes and slaps his friend’s arm. “I’m serious! His bad hair and stupid face are ruining the good vibes! I _need_ my good vibes, Hunk! You saw me yesterday! It was all bad vibes!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. You ate half the enchiladas I made and then pouted on the couch with a tub of ice cream.”

“I eat when I’m angry!”

“Hey, if it keeps you from rambling about Keith all night, then I’m all for it. Eat me out of house and home.”

“I do _not_ ramble about him.”

“Dude,” Hunk fixes him with a flat look. “I could probably tell you exactly how his hair looked every day for the past two weeks in _excruciating_ detail. I swear I know his wardrobe and music playlist by heart, and if I have to hear about the way he frowns or the way his nose wrinkles or the way his eyes sparkle one more time—“

“I don’t talk about that!” Lance snaps, punching Hunk’s arm. It’s not hard, but his friend grip his arm like it does and laughs. Lance huffs and looks away. “Just get rid of him, Hunk. For me?” He tilts his head back over his shoulder, giving Hunk wide eyes and a pouty lip in the classic Lance McClain Puppy Dog Pout.

Hunk just gives him an amused look and shakes his head, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No can do, buddy. This is a good song and I’m about to go kick Pidge out.”

And with that, he jogs forward a few steps, stopping in front of Pidge with his hands up at his chest, elbows out. He gyrates in front of them, arms and hips shaking, torso pumping, until Pidge laughs and throws up their hands in defeat, skipping backwards to join Lance. Hunk takes the circle by storm, falling to his hands and feet to do a few quick moves that have him spinning on the stones. He doesn’t exactly have the more acrobatic breakdancing moves down like Lance, but damn can he get down.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” They ask, coming to a stop next to Lance. They cross their arms over their chest and bump their hip against his.

“My panties are twist free, thank you.” He huffs, lifting his chin.

“Uh huh, and that’s why you look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.” Lance grumbles something incoherent. “Laaaance.” Pidge groans, full of exasperation, bumping his hip again, hard enough to make him stumble.

He sighs, then nods his head toward the crowd. “Keith is here.” He grumbles.

Pidge follows his nod and spots Keith a lot faster than Hunk had. “Oooh, that explains it. He’s the reason you fell.”

“He is not!”

They hum in response, then lift their hand in a small wave. Lance snaps his head up in time to see Keith lifting his hand in response. He’s looking at Pidge, and Lance gets the feeling that he’s stubbornly avoiding his gaze. And that just irritates him more. He scowls, hunching his shoulders up higher. “Look at that asshole. He won’t even look at me! What? Am I not _good_ enough to be graced by his stupid dark grayish violet eyes—“

“You know the color of his eyes?” There’s amusement there. Lance ignores them.

“—Which I _know_ is a lie, cause I’m _good_ and _good looking_.” He scoffs. “I mean, just look at me, I’m hot as— Pidge, what are you doing?”

They’re definitely making a ‘come here’ motion across the circle. Lance feels his eyes widen, and his head whips up. Sure enough, Keith nods and steps back from the circle, weaving his way behind people.

“I’m inviting him over.” They say nonchalantly.

Lance looks down at them, mouth agape and eyes wide. “Wha— Pidge, _why_?”

They shrug, but there’s a smile playing across their lips that he really doesn’t like. “Just thought it’d be nice to say hi.”

Lance sputters, unable to find proper words to articulate with panic rising up his throat. “Wha— why— _Pidge_ —“

“He’s here.”

Lance spins around, back going ramrod straight. Keith has made his way around the circle, and he’s obviously making a beeline for them. He stops by the donation bucket though, and pulls a hand out of his pocket, dropping a couple bills into the bucket. Lance doesn’t want to feel touched or happy about that. His lips purse together in what he thinks is probably a frown, and tries to school his expression into something intimidating.

He’s about… eighty percent sure he nails it.

He shifts his arms over his chest, fingers fidgeting against his upper arms as he shifts his weight to one hip. “What are _you_ doing here?” He asks in a remarkably ingenious impersonation of Keith from yesterday. He’s pretty proud of it.

Keith comes to a stop in front of them, hands back in the pockets of his leather jacket. It should really _not_ look that good on him. Actually, it doesn’t. It doesn’t look good on him at all. Nope. Definitely doesn’t bring attention to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. And it _really_ doesn’t complete his whole impassive bad boy look. Nope. Lance doesn’t notice how his hair curls against the collar of the jacket.

The small smile that had been shadowing his lips while watching them dance is gone. His lips press into a deeper frown at Lance’s words. His brows furrow slightly as he meets Lance’s gaze, and they have a small stare off. Lance doesn’t want to be the first to back down, and Keith is stubbornly refusing to give in. They both fidget. Keith looks like he wants to say something, his mouth twisting and nose wrinkling. Lance can see the gears turning behind his eyes, struggling with some kind of decision that he doesn’t understand.

“Hey, Keith.” Pidge says, instantly drawing Keith’s attention away from him. His eyes easily slide over Lance’s shoulder and down to look at his friend.

Then for the third time ever, Lance sees Keith’s expression soften into something foreign. His brows relax, the tension in his face drains away, and he fucking grins. Straight up grins. His lips spread wide enough to show a small bit of teeth and it’s _blinding_. His eyes fucking _light up_ when he sees Pidge, and for a moment he’s so _open_ and _earnest_ with his expression that Lance feels heat instantly crawl up his neck to settle on his cheeks. He’s never seen Keith’s expression like this so close. It’s… almost painful.

For the second time in ten minutes, Lance forgets how to breathe.

“Hey, Pidge.” Even his _voice_ is softer than Lance is used to hearing, and it’s quickly becoming too much.

Before he can say anything, not like he has any idea _what_ to say, his brain has more or less shut down, Pidge is pushing past him. They shove his arm, and he stumbles to the side, watching in mounting horror as Pidge and Keith hug. They _hug_. They wrap their arms around Keith’s waist and he wraps his arms around their shoulders, and they embrace in such a way that is _way_ too tight to be casual.

“Long time no see,” Pidge says as they step back from each other. They cross their arms over their chest in a mirror of each other. Both of them are smiling, and Lance’s brain is short circuiting a little.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Too busy to hang out with your old pal Pidge?”

“Pidge, you’re the one who’s always busy. I haven’t seen you in almost two months.” He deadpans.

“And not even a text or a call. I’m hurt, Keith.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile turns sheepish. “Yeah, well I didn’t get anything from you either.”

Pidge laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. We both suck at communicating. To be fair, I’ve had my hands full. Grad school takes up a lot of time and I have these idiots to look after.” They offhandedly gesture to Lance, and Keith’s eyes slide to him. He’s still in such a state of shock that he doesn’t have time to react before Keith is looking away.

“I, uh, didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

Pidge rolls their eyes, a smirk still on their lips. “Who do you think he goes to complain to after you piss him off or he embarrasses himself?”

“Hey!” Lance interjects, being shaken from his stupor. He glares at Pidge, and they meet his glare unflinchingly before turning back to Keith.

“You’ve been going to Altea for how long now and we’ve never hung out there?”

He shrugs, looking away. “I don’t really… hang out there.”

Pidge rolls their eyes and waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You go in, dance, and leave, like the antisocial caterpillar you are.” Keith levels a glare at them, but it’s more like a pout than any look he’s ever given Lance.

“ _What_ —” Lance finally finds his voice, and raises it to a shout. Both of them look at him, and he’s aware his voice is a little higher pitched than normal, but he can’t exactly control that right now. “—Is going _on_?”

Keith’s pout hardens into more of a real glare at the interruption, but Pidge doesn’t even flinch. “I’m talking to Keith.”

“You _know_ Keith?!” There’s an accusation in his voice as he points to the mullet man in question.

“Yes.”

“You know _Keith_?!” He gestures with both hands.

“Yup.”

“The guy I’ve been competing with for the past _two weeks_?!”

“The answer is still the same, Lance.”

“The guy I challenged to auditions? My rival? The asshole with a mullet?”

“How long is this going to go on?”

“You _knew_ who he was and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“I knew you’d react like this.”

“Of course I’d react like this!” He throws his arms up in the air. “One of my best friends is fraternizing with my rival! How am I _supposed_ to act?”

“Like a normal person?”

“So the whole time I’ve complained about him, you _knew_?”

“I thought that was already established?”

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_. _Oh_ , my god. Oh my—“ He runs his hands through his hair, gripping and tugging on it as he slowly walks in a small circle. He’s like a broken record, and part of him knows it, but that part is very much overridden by the part of him that’s panicking.

Pidge knows Keith. Pidge has known the _whole time_. Pidge never told him he knows Keith. And he can _see_ from Pidge’s face that they’re enjoying this. They’re enjoying watching Lance embarrass himself _again_ in front of _Keith_. What was that he had said about Pidge being a sweet, sweet angel? He takes it back. Oh man, takes it _all_ back. Pidge is a _demon_ in disguise. A hell creature bent on watching him _suffer_.

“Is… Is he alright?” He vaguely hears Keith ask.

Pidge shrugs. “Yeah, he’s just a little dramatic. He’ll be fine once he gets it out of his system.”

“Dramatic?” He rounds on Pidge, one hand on his hip as he holds his other hand out, palm up and fingers curled. “I’m not dramatic. One of my best friends has _betrayed_ me.”

“See what I mean?”

“Ugh!” He throws his hands up in the air.

“And to be fair, Keith was my friend first.”

“ _Ugh!_ ”

“Lance, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I cannot _believe_ —“ He throws up his hands once more, gesturing wildly between them. Keith is no longer glaring. He’s watching Lance with one eyebrow raised and expression blank. But he can’t help but get the impression that he’s _amused_. “You know what? I can’t handle this right now.” He pushes between and past them both, holding his arms out to the side. “Hunk! Step aside! I’ve got a fire that can’t be contained!”

Hunk concedes the floor to him, and Lance let’s go. He does his best to ignore everything and simply dance. He tries to feed off the audience and smile like he was earlier. He’s not feeling it though. His attention is constantly being drawn back to where _Keith_ , the source of all his recent anguish, is talking and _smiling_ and _laughing_ with his two best friends. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he desperately _wants_ to know. He also knows that he can’t handle being around them in a civilized manner yet.

He just has… so much going on in his head. Never in his wildest nightmares did he imagine Keith would _know_ Pidge. It was pretty clear that he knows Shiro, but Shiro isn’t one of his two major confidants in the world. He isn’t the one Lance has been ranting to for _weeks_ about Keith. And Pidge never said anything! Lance is desperately trying to remember everything he’s ever said about Keith in front of Pidge, but he’s pulling up a blank. He knows there’s got to be about a million embarrassing things.

It was, and still is, a lot to take in. He just wants Keith out of his life so he doesn’t have to think about him or feel the weird chest flutterings ever again. He wants to breathe _normally_ for once. But no, of _course_ Keith has to find his way into the heart of Lance’s life by knowing one of his best friends.

And then he hadn’t even managed to play it cool. He had freaked the fuck out, and by the time he had realized what he was doing, it was too late to control it.

God, why is he _always_ managing to act like an idiot in front of Keith? The guy is never going to see him as an equal.

He dances with a lot of spins and sideways moves so he can keep an eye on the small group chatting behind him. The more he watches, the more agitated he gets. This is the guy who’s made him miserable and is the whole reason Lance was so upset yesterday, yet here he is, chatting with his friends like it’s no big deal.

Then he catches Keith’s eyes on him.

He’s watching him dance from over Pidge’s shoulder, and in the moment before he realizes he’s been caught, Lance see’s an edge of that soft look again. He doesn’t know if it’s aimed at him or the after affect of him smiling at Pidge and Hunk, but… Lance will take it. Maybe it’s not too late to… he’s not even sure what he wants to do. Impress him? Make a better impression? Prove that he’s good? Salvage his reputation?

Out of reflex more than anything, he smirks, cocky confidence coming back to him so naturally when faced with an expression of admiration. Keith’s eyes widen a fraction, lips parting in surprise, before his face drops into a familiar scowl. Before he turns, Lance is positive he sees a flush on Keith’s cheeks.

Now that he knows he has an audience that he actually cares to impress, he kicks it up a notch. It comes to him easily enough. Nothing too fancy, but definitely some crowd pleasers. He bounces around with quick steps, throwing his arms into it. He even gets a half a backflip in there, jumping backwards and reaching back over his shoulder to plant his hand on the ground. He holds his weight upright for a moment before letting his momentum continue over, feet barely touching the ground before he’s moving again.

The whole time he keeps sneaking glances at Keith to make sure he’s watching. He is.

The song changes, and suddenly Pidge and Hunk are there, both of them pushing him out of the circle. He’s barely away from them before they start dancing a routine they had created a couple years ago. He recognizes it immediately. That’ll happen when you’ve seen your friends do the same thing nearly every day for a couple months.

He walks back to his spot, which is, unfortunately, right next to Keith. He stands next to him, hands handing at his sides and idly tapping against his thighs with the beat. Keith has his hands in his pockets, and Lance can see him shifting his weight from side to side next to him. They stand in awkward silence for nearly a minute before Keith says something.

Lance knows. He’s basically counting the seconds while trying to keep his breathing under control.

“So… do you guys do this often?” He asks, pulling a hand out of his pocket to gesture toward where Hunk and Pidge are dancing.

Lance shrugs, tapping his hands double time. “Every week, usually.”

“It looks, uh… fun?”

He glances sideways at Keith, who’s keeping his eyes fixed forward. His lips are pursed together slightly, but it doesn’t look like it’s in anger or irritation or any of the other ways he’s always looked at Lance. Lance also doesn’t get the impression that he’s making fun of them. He just sounds… awkward and uncomfortable, but determined.

“Yeah,” He finally says. “Yeah, it’s a lot of fun.” Keith doesn’t say anything, and they’re both resolutely keeping their eyes on the dancing duo. “So…” Jeez, now _he’s_ feeling awkward. Thank god there’s music to tap along to, otherwise he’d be fidgeting a _lot_ more. This is the first time he and Keith have had a real actual conversation, and Lance is feeling… strange. Nervous? Who knows. Sure as hell not him. “How do you know Pidge?”

Yeah, that’s right. He can be calm about this situation. He can be cool. Cool as ice, Lance McClain.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Keith shrug. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Oh, really?” He vaguely remembers Pidge mentioning a childhood friend, his main friend throughout high school, but to be honest, he doesn’t remember much else. Pidge has never brought him around.

“Yeah, our older brothers were friends. Shiro used to bring me along when he went to their house—“

“Wait, _Shiro_?” Lance says, turning to look at him, eyes wide.

Keith meets his gaze, blinking. He raises one eyebrow. “Yeah? Shiro’s my brother.” He says slowly, like he’s surprised that Lance doesn’t already know.

But how is he supposed to know _that_ when no one’s ever _told_ him! He feels the panic start to rise again, threatening to choke him. His hands curl into fists, but don’t stop tapping against his thighs. “Oh,” He says, and his voice is unnaturally high again. He tries to subtly clear his throat and to not sound like he’s being strangled.

He’s not panicking. He’s not. He’s cool as ice. Totally. He’s not about to freak out because the guy he’s been determined to beat, the guy that pisses him off, the guy that he’s ranted and complained about for weeks, his _rival_ , is not only old friends with Pidge, but the younger brother of _Shiro_.

_Why has no one ever told him this?_

“You okay?” Keith is looking at him, half turned in his direction.

“Fine!” He says, cringing at his own voice.

Keith doesn’t seem convinced, but he drops it anyway. Lance remains silent, trying to digest this new information as silently as possible. Pidge and Hunk, luckily, provide a good distraction so he doesn’t have to look at Keith.

Then Keith clears his throat, and Lance reflexively looks over at him. There’s a small blush tinging his cheeks, and his lips are pursed, brows furrowed. He can see his hands moving restlessly in his pockets. “Speaking of Shiro… he’s actually the reason why I’m here. He asked me to… talk to you… about that whole duo thing.”

He glances at Lance out of the corner of his eye, and Lance blinks. Once, twice, three times. _Oh_. A smirk slowly curves his lips as he feels his nervousness subside, slowly replaced by a surge of confidence. He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his hip to the side. His eyes go half lidded as he practically beams at Keith.

“Oh, I see what this is.” He says slowly.

Keith looks at him suspiciously, eyes roaming over his sudden change of expression. “You do?” He sounds skeptical.

He shrugs. “Of course!” He holds his hands out at his sides in a defenseless gesture. “Not that I can blame you.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

He puts a hand on his hip as he turns to face him, leaning forward and using his other hand to poke him in the chest. He’s grinning now. “You’ve changed your mind, and you’re here to admit that I’m a _good_ dancer and to _beg_ me to be your duo partner.” He leans back, holding his hand to his chest. “I can’t blame you. I _am_ pretty good.” He flashes him a winning smile. “You’d be lucky to have someone as dashing and talented as me as your partner.”

Keith glares at him, face hardening. He frowns, and _this_ is a Keith expression that he’s used to seeing. This is comfortingly familiar. Keith looks like he’s swallowed something sour. He then sighs, turning away. “You know what? Forget it. This is a waste of my time.”

“Oh, come on, Keith! Don’t be like that!” Before he really realizes what he’s doing, he steps forward, reaching out to grab Keith’s arm. Keith glares at it before his eyes rise to meet his, raising one eyebrow in silent question. He feels a shiver run through him but ignores it. Keith is so close, staring at him expectantly, and he feels his heart go into over time. His hair looks slightly damp, like he had recently taken a shower. And when a slight breeze passes by, Lance can smell the odd but pleasant combination of his shampoo and deodorant. It’s so disconcerting that he says the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re already here, might as well hurry up and apologize.”

Both his brows skyrocket and his mouth hangs open. “Apologize?”

“Uh, yeah, dude, you were rude as fuck yesterday. I’m not going to duo with you if you keep throwing a fit whenever I try to have a little fun.”

Keith pulls his arm from Lance’s grasp, turning to face him. “ _I_ have no reason to apologize. I said you fucked up our dance and you _did_. Besides, _you_ were the one who missed auditions after practically _begging_ me to be there.”

Lance’s smirk is gone. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back as he frowns. “I had my reasons.”

Keith rolls his eyes, mirroring Lance’s position. “Like what? Couldn’t pick a song?”

Lance feels heat flare to his cheeks. “You know what? I don’t need this from _you_.” He steps forward, getting into Keith’s space and trying to ignore how the nearness of him makes his stomach twist in knots. He jabs a finger into Keith’s chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “If you’re so good, you should’ve just auditioned by yourself instead of coming to beg me to carry you to regionals!”

“I’m not begging!”

“Then why are you here? Wanted to rub salt in the wound? _Haha, Lance didn’t make it and I’m not going to duo with him because I’ve got a ten foot pole shoved so far up my ass it’s a miracle I can dance at all_.”

“Why the hell would I want to duo with _you_ when you’re always such an _ass_?”

“Uh, because I’m _good_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, and you think _you’re_ any better, hot shot?”

“I made it last year, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t go!”

“But I made it through auditions. Unlike you.”

“You know what? _Fuck_ you. I don’t need this, and I definitely don’t need _you_.” Lance says, giving Keith’s chest one last jab for good measure.

Keith slaps his hand away. “Yeah? Well, same. I _told_ them this was a stupid idea.” His shoulders hunch and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he steps away. “You can’t even have a normal conversation with someone, let alone work with them. Shiro and Allura are crazy if they think we’d make a good team.” His face is set in that scowl that Lance knows all too well. He can feel it mirrored on his own face. Keith’s eyes drop away from him, lips twisting into something else as he kicks at something on the ground. “I was starting to think that maybe they were right when they said duoing to regionals was a good idea, but I can’t do this. I’m done.” He shakes his head and removed his hands from his pockets, putting them up in the air. He takes several steps backwards. “I don’t need you to get to regionals. I’ll find someone else.”

Lance ignores the twisting in his gut and his heart sinking into his stomach. He feels his expression twist, but he’s not sure what face he’s making. “Fine! I don’t need you!” He snaps. “There are _plenty_ of other people who would be _lucky_ to have me as a partner!”

“Good luck finding someone willing to put up with your bullshit.” He says, turning on his heel and shoving his hands back in his pockets as he walks away, shoulders hunched.

“Yeah?” He shouts after him. “Well— good luck finding someone willing to put up with your—“ _Complex choreography? Skill? Talent? Amazing agility? Angry eyes and pouting lips?_ All of those sound suspiciously like compliments. He flounders, trying to find something to say. But Keith is walking away, so he says the first non-compliment he can think of. “—With your _mullet_!”

Yeah, good one. He groans and buries his face in his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly done setting up this story, and we'll soon get into the real _meat_ of this fic. We're so excited!
> 
> I didn't reference any particular dances in this chapter, but if you're curious, you can go to the _Shut Up and Dance With Me_ tumblr and find the inspiration videos for each of their styles ^^
> 
> Also feel free to check out our tumblrs and scream at us! Or to tag us in things. We love love _love_ all of your comments. I love reading about all the things in particular you enjoy, and it's amazingly validating for both of us and really keeps us going strong. We read and cherish _all_ of the comments and tags on Sora's art. You guys are great  <3
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/151856108819/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-3-update-these)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	4. Take a Chance on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to go to regionals?”
> 
> “You know I do…” He grumbles, still hiding his face beneath his arm. 
> 
> “So then you should go and apologize and beg him to give you a chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming at you with another long chapter! BOOM! 
> 
> Serious shout out to my partner in crime here, Sora. Not only does she do the beautiful art for this fic, but she constantly puts up with my need for validation and uncertainty while I'm writing. Whenever I'm having writers block or I need inspiration for dialogue flow, she rambles on skype to inspire me and keep me going. I cannot thank her enough. This fic would take so much longer without her help.

“How much lasagne did you say you made?”

“Like, enough to feed a whole family.”

“And he ate _half_ of that?”

“Yup.”

“And now he’s on a tub of ice cream.”

“Yup. Good thing I just went grocery shopping. Though if we don’t stop him we may need to go replenish our ice cream stock soon.”

“Under normal circumstances I would fight him for that ice cream, but… I’m not willing to get between him and that tub.”

“Yeaaah, me neither, to be honest. He may only have a spoon, but I don’t trust it. Maybe he’ll tire himself out eventually. You know, like a food coma.”

“I’ve never known him to hold a scowl for this long before. Do you think his face will get stuck like that?”

“Oh man, I hope not. It’s gotta be taking a lot of his energy to keep it up though.”

“That’s probably how he can manage to eat so much. Where does it even go? He’s like a bean pole.”

“I’m kinda worried, PIdge. If he keeps this up I just _know_ he’s gonna get sick. I’ll rock, paper, scissors you for who has to go take that from him.”

“No way, I’m not taking that chance. What we need is a replacement so he can keep up his anger munchies but not make himself sick off that ice cream.”

“Oooh, yeah, that’s a good idea. What’d you suggest?”

“Popcorn?”

“Alright, yeah, that’s good. Good plan. But should we, like, _ask_ him first or just start popping it and see if he comes around?”

“Definitely just start popping it. I’ve never known him to turn down popcorn. I’m not sure he’d answer us right now anyway. He kinda looks like he’s in a weird… comatose state.”

“Is it possible to even be in an angry coma?”

“I don’t think it’s all anger. I think half of it is embarrassment and disappointment and repressed feelings.”

“I can _hear_ you, you know.” Lance says, turning his head to glare at his friends. He’s sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest with a tub of good old rocky road resting on them. His words are slurred slightly by the spoon in his mouth.

Hunk and Pidge both jump, turning to stare at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh, uh, hey buddy, how you doing?” Hunk says, but the last of his question is drowned out by Pidge’s loud and dramatic declaration.

“He liiiives!” They throw their hands up, fingers curling.

Lance continues to glare at them, spoon in his mouth.

When they don’t get a reaction, Pidge sighs, hopping off the counter where they had been sitting and moving toward the living room of the apartment.

“How do you feel about popcorn, Lance?” Hunk asks from the kitchen, but Lance can already hear him rummaging through the pantry.

“Movie theater butter?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“I guess that’s fine then…” He grumbles begrudgingly, pulling the spoon form his mouth and staring at the ice cream. He doesn’t really _want_ more, but it’s right there, so he might as well…

“Oh no you don’t.” Pidge says, reaching out to snatch the tub from it’s precarious perch on his knees. Lance makes a wordless, pitiful sound of protest, reaching out to grab it back. Pidge slaps his hands away and holds out their hand. “Spoon.”

“ _Métetelo por el culo_ …” He mumbles as he reluctantly hands them the spoon.

Pidge snorts as they walk away. “I heard that.”

“Doesn’t mean you understand it!”

“Except I do.”

“You took German in school!” He snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, shoulders rising to his ears.

Pidge waves the spoon over their shoulder as they near the kitchen. “I’ve picked up a few things after being friends with you for so long.”

“ _Chingate_ …”

“ _Que the la pique un pollo_.” They reply smoothly, despite their terrible accent and choppy pronunciation.

Lance gaps at them as they put the ice cream back in the freezer. Hunk lets out a burst of surprised laughter, throwing his head back as he pulls the box of popcorn bags from the pantry. “Pidge!” He tries to sound chastising, but it doesn’t quite work.

“You need to stop talking to Sophie!” Lance snaps.

Pidge tosses the spoon in the sink and grins at him. “No way, Sophie is the best. She teaches me things that are actually relevant.”

“How is _that_ relevant?!”

Pidge shrugs. “It was useful, wasn’t it?”

Lance huffs, turning away from them both, staring at the blank TV instead. The couch in Pidge and Hunk’s apartment is a corner couch that they got cheap from Hunk’s parents. One edge is pressed against the wall while the other has it’s back to the small area designated as the dining room, complete with a small table, before giving way to the bar counter that separates the dining room from the kitchen. Lance sits in the corner of the L-shaped couch, knees pulled up to his chest. He rests his crossed arms overtop them and puts his chin on his forearms.

Pidge plops down on one side of the couch, leaning their back against the arm and the back cushion and stretching their legs out along the length, one knee bent. They’re staring at Lance, but he’s pointedly refusing to look at them. A silence stretches between them.

“One popcorn bag or two?” Hunk asks.

“Two.” Both Lance and Pidge say at the same time.

There’s a hum from the kitchen. “Right.”

The silence is back, and it’s starting to get under his skin. Pidge hasn’t even taken their phone out. They’re just… staring at him. He knows they want to talk about what happened earlier at the park. He knows they both do. One moment they had been dancing, and the next Keith had stormed off and Lance was moping. Not even dancing could pull him out of it. Pidge had even tried putting on more Shakira and Hunk had tried Nikki Minaj. Lance had been uncharacteristically silent for the whole ride back to their apartment, and throughout the preparation of dinner. He knew he was just making it worse for himself. He had known that his friends would pick up on it and corner him later but… he couldn’t quite help it.

When he needs to wallow, he needs to wallow.

And he knows the moment he’s been dreading is here, but he refuses to cave first. Unfortunately, so does Pidge. They end up sitting like that for several long minutes while Lance tries not to visibly fidget. All the while listening to the microwave hum and beep in the background.

Then Hunk is there, plopping down on the other side of Lance and handing him a bowl of popcorn. He takes it gratefully, unfurling from his position to sit cross legged with the bowl on his lap. The crunch of popcorn, warm and salty, is exactly what he needed after all that ice cream. He chews loudly to fill the silence.

“So…” Hunk says slowly, conversationally. He props both feet up on the coffee table and settles his own bowl in his lap. “Wanna talk about it?”

Lance scowls down at the bowl in his lap. “No…”

Hunk leans over, nudging him with his own shoulder. “Come on, Lance…”

Lance lifts his chin, casually tossing back a few pieces of popcorn. “I’m sorry, Hunk. I can’t hear you over the sound of complete and utter _betrayal_.” With this, he shoots a nasty look at Pidge.

They roll their eyes and their head, rolling it back along the couch cushion. “Laaaance!” They groan.

“Hunk, did you hear something?” He says, turning away from Pidge but putting his hand to his ear and leaning toward them a fraction.

“Dude,” Hunk says flatly, and there’s probably a warning in there for him to cut his shit, but he ignores it.

“It must be a ghost, cause that is definitely the voice of someone who’s _dead to me_.”

“Laaaance!” Pidge groans again. He looks at them and meets their bright amber gaze. Their brow is knit in the middle, and their lips are scrunched up in such a way that they seem to find the words they’re trying to say to be actually painful. “I’m… I’m sorry, okay?”

Lance continues to stare, but his eyes narrow.

Pidge waves a hand in the air aimlessly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I know Keith. I didn’t think it would be this big of a deal. I still don’t really get _why_ it’s such a big deal, but I should’ve told you sooner.”

Lance nods, looking down into the bowl on his lap. “You should’ve.”

“To be _fair_ , though, I didn’t realize the ‘mullet-head Keith’ you were complaining about was my childhood friend Keith.”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes. “How many _Keiths_ do you think there are? And how many of them have _mullets_?” Lance waves at the back of his neck for emphasis.

Pidge shrugs. “I’ve never really thought of it as a mullet.”

“Pidge, it’s totally a mullet!”

“Yeah, okay, I can kind of see it _now_. But it suits him.” Lance isn’t about to agree with that, but he can’t exactly deny it either. So he stays silent. “Anyway, I didn’t really think about it. I just saw it as you being you and challenging a guy you barely knew but admired—“

“I don’t admire him!”

“—To a dance contest at auditions. It’s not exactly out of character for you. Hunk told me he was some guy you guys were in a class with last year that you were totally obsessed with—“

“Hunk!”

“You were, dude.”

“Was not!”

“—But I didn’t really connect him to my Keith until I saw his name on the sign ups for auditions.”

“You should have told me then!”

Pidge shrugs again. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. It was right before auditions, and I thought it would distract you. Hunk told me to wait until after auditions.”

Lance whips his head around to look at his best friend of nearly _eight years_. “Hunk?” He gapes at him, and at least he has the decency to look abashed.

He busies himself by shuffling the popcorn in his bowl, but he won’t meet Lance’s eyes. “Look, we both know how you get. You would’ve been even more obsessed and trying to learn about his ‘weaknesses’ or something from Pidge, and you would’ve been so wrapped up in knowing that Pidge is friends with your ‘enemy’ that it might’ve… you know, distracted you from doing your best at auditions?”

Alright, so maybe Lance feels a _little_ bad now. His friends were only looking out for him. And yeah, he has a tendency to get a little obsessive and a little distracted, and it might have affected his performance. Not that it mattered in the end anyway.

Lance sighs, reaching out to pat Hunk’s arm. “Thanks, man.” He says softly, giving Hunk a small smile.

He returns it. “We were only trying to look out for you, man.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me _after_.” He says pointedly, swinging his gaze back around to Pidge. They jumped a little at his sudden swing back to a sharp tone. He sees their face scrunch up defensively as they sat up straighter.

“I didn’t think it _mattered_. It was over, you didn’t get in, you were moping and upset that you hadn’t made it and Keith had, and I didn’t want to rub salt in that wound and make it worse.”

“What about after Shiro said—“

Pidge throws their hands up in the air with an exasperated groan. “It all happened so fast! One day, you miss auditions. The next, Shiro suggests duoing with Keith. That night you mope around at our apartment. The next day we try to cheer you up with some street dancing. When exactly did I have time to bring it up and _not_ send you back into another mope spiral?”

“Anytime _before_ I found out in front of him would have been nice!”

“It’s not _my_ fault you freaked out when you found out.”

“Pidge, you’re supposed to be my _friend!_ ”

“I _am_! And as your friend, I have to admit, your reaction was _hilarious_.”

“ _Pidge!_ ”

“What’s the big deal? You _always_ embarrass yourself, and you _always_ bounce back.”

“Yeah, but— but this is different! This was _Keith_.”

Pidge’s expression changes then. They look like they’ve got a glimpse of gold, and Lance _really_ doesn’t like the look they’re giving him. They tilt their chin down, looking up at Lance with a small smirk tugging the corner of their lips. “What’s so special about Keith, Lance?”

Lance presses his lips together, eyes widening as he tries to keep his face neutral and fight down the heat that’s rising up his neck. He knows it’s a losing battle, so he scowls down at the bowl in his lap. “Nothing! He’s the worst!” To avoid talking further, he shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

“Mhmm, sure he is. You know, this wouldn’t be such a big deal if you just—“

“Pidge,” Hunk cuts in, and when Lance glances up at him, he can see Hunk frowning at Pidge. Hunk is his hero.

They sigh and cross their arms over their chest, sinking further into the couch as they scowl at the coffee table. “Right, anyway, I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, okay? I didn’t think it would affect you this much.” Lance glances up at them, and they honestly look apologetic.

He feels his scowl fading, and he sighs, relieved. He hadn’t realized how much tension had been in his body until he relaxes, sinking back against the couch. “Thanks, Pidge.”

They relax, too, and then the corner of their lips twitch upward. “The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math.”

Lance throws back his head and laughs, and Pidge’s smirk widens. “Pidge! Do you really think that I’ll forgive you just because you _meme_ in your apology?” He asks, looking at them and unable to smother his grin.

Pidge shrugs, still smiling. “It was worth a shot. So…?”

“So?”

“Do you forgive me?”

Lance makes a show of humming in consideration, tapping his chin with a finger, and looking up at the ceiling. “Hmmm, I dunno…”

Pidge rolls their eyes, stretching out their leg to kick his thigh with their foot. “Lance, come on!”

He laughs, dropping his hand to pat their leg. “Yeah, yeah, I forgive you.”

“Good.” And the smile on their face is genuine.

Hunk sighs, tilting his head back against the couch cushion. “Thank god that’s over. I hate it when you guys fight.”

Lance snorts. “We weren’t _fighting_.”

Hunk shrugs, reaching for the TV remote. “Close enough.”

Pidge nudges Lance’s thigh with their toes. “Now that we’re good, pass some of that popcorn.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you reach for it earlier?”

“And risk you biting my hand off? I don’t think so.”

Lance passes them his bowl, and they settle it on their stomach as Lance leans into Hunk, reaching for his bowl before shoving his face with more popcorn. Hunk’s got the xbox controller in his hand and is pulling up Netflix. Several moments pass as they scroll through the options before he speaks.

“So…Now that that’s over, wanna talk about what’s got you in this mood?”

“I’m _not_ in a mood.” Lance grumbles, hunching his shoulders slightly as he leans against Hunk’s arm. His protest sounds weak, even to him.

Pidge snorts, waving a couple pieces of popcorn around in the air. “Yeah, that’s why you’ve been angry eating ever since we got back from the park.”

Lance shoots them a glare, but doesn’t say anything. He knows there’s nothing he _can_ say because they’re right. Eating just makes him feel better, okay? And it’s something he can put his energy into.

“This has to do with Keith, doesn’t it?” Hunk prompts, he’s idly scrolling through things on Netflix, but none of them are really paying attention. Lance knows he’s not going to pick something until they’ve had this talk.

Lance sighs. “Yeah, it does.” He admits, taking the popcorn bowl from Hunk’s lap and sitting up straight again. He pulls his knees up, cradling the bowl between his knees and his chest. He doesn’t look at either of his friends. “I wasn’t… expecting to see him there. He blindsided me.” He says it like Keith meant to do it. Like it’s his fault, and he caught Lance off guard on purpose. Like it’s his fault that Lance was so completely floored by seeing all those fucking _soft_ expressions and _smiles_.

“What did he want?” Hunk asks.

Lance raises an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “He didn’t tell you?”

Hunk shook his head. “Nah, we just got introduced and talked to him a bit about dancing and what we were doing and stuff.”

“Then our song came on,” Pidge says. “And we wanted to see if we still remembered it.”

“And we did.”

“Of course, we did.”

“Up top!” Hunk leans over Lance, holding up a hand. Pidge sits up and leans forward to clap his hand with theirs. Hunk leans back into his original position, but Pidge shifts, scooting closer to Lance and turning to lean their back against his arm and shoulder.

“Then when we got back, Keith was gone and you were moping on the bench.” Pidge finishes, shoving popcorn in their mouth and speaking around it. “So what happened?”

Lance groans, long, loud, and wordless. Hunk pats his arm. “Come on, buddy. The sooner you tell us the better.”

“For all of us.” Pidge adds.

Lance huffs in defeat. “Well, Mr. High and Mighty decides to show up and tell me about how Shiro wanted him to talk to me about dancing together for auditions.” He tries to sound indifferent, offended, maybe even a little angry, but he can’t help the grumpy defeat that’s layering his voice.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Hunk says, perking up. He looks between the two of them, smiling. “This gives you another chance to get to regionals. Right, Lance?”

Lance refuses to look at him, instead slouching a little more. He wonders if he can find a way to get the couch to absorb him. Just kinda disappear into it. It’s a pretty comfortable couch. It’s been his bed on many occasions. Surely a lifetime being stuck in a couch void wouldn’t be too bad…

“ _Right_ , Lance?” Hunk repeats after a moment, but his smile has dropped and his tone has become wary.

He winces and curls a little in on himself, hunching over the popcorn bowl as he picks through it. He can feel the gazes of both his friends on him.

“He wanted to talk about duoing?” Hunk repeats.

“Mhmm…”

“Lance…” Pidge’s voice is pitched low. They sit up straight, turning so they can reach out and grab Lance’s face in both hands. Lance tries to jerk away, but their grip is surprisingly strong. They force him to meet their gaze. He tries to look casual. Casual and confident and totally not guilty or scared. Pidge searches his eyes for a moment before their own gaze narrows. “You said _yes_ , didn’t you?”

Oh no, that’s their warning voice. Lance winces out of reflex. Looking anywhere but at Pidge’s face, he bites his bottom lip.

“Lance…” Ugh, that’s _Hunk’s_ warning voice! It isn’t _fair_ when they gang up on him like this! A small whimper escapes his lips.

“Did he offer to duo with you and you fucked up and told him no?” Pidge presses further, still not letting go of his face.

“Noooo…” Lance says slowly. “Not… exactly?”

Pidge’s glare sharpens. “What happened?”

“He may not… have gotten the chance to… ask? At all?”

Hunk groans. “Lance, what did you _do?_ ”

“Did you piss him off and make him storm off?” Pidge is shouting now, scowling at him while they smoosh his cheeks together until it hurts.

“Ow, ow, _ow_ , Pidge!” Lance slaps their hands away, taking them by the wrist to push them off. He me meets Pidge’s glare.

“Tell us what happened.” They demand.

And so Lance tells them. He tells them everything that he can remember, which, admittedly, is basically the whole conversation he had with Keith. He’s been thinking about it ever since he watched Keith walk away. It’s been on repeat in his head. So remembers pretty much everything. All of the moments he wishes he could change. All of things he wishes he could say differently. He _knows_ he fucked up. And he also knows there’s nothing he can do to change it.

When he’s done, he waits, but his friends are silent. The seconds tick by, expanding and filling the room. Lance feels that itch under his skin again, and tries to distract himself with it by eating more popcorn. Loudly and obnoxiously.

Pidge is the first to break the silence. “Lance…”

Hunk isn’t far behind them. “Dude…”

“Seriously?”

“Lance, _please_ …”

There’s exasperation in their voices. That, and pity. And probably a little frustration as well. But nothing about them speaks of surprise. They’re disappointed, that much is obvious, but are they surprised? Nope. Not at all. And Lance likes to believe there’s a little edge of fondness mixed in with that exasperation that he’s so familiar with.

“I… may have overreacted a bit.” He admits slowly.

Pidge snorts. “You think?”

“No wonder he left. I’d have left, too, in his shoes.” Hunk says. He’s given up pretending to scroll through Netflix. Instead, his head is tilted back on the couch cushion, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Pidge is back to leaning against his side, seeming drained of all energy to stay upright.

“It sounds like he was trying to ask you to duo with him.” Pidge asks, raising a brow as they tilted their head back to look up at him.

Lance groans. “I know, I know, I fucked up, okay? I admit it. But there’s nothing I can do now.” He frowns at his knees. “Besides, I wasn’t wrong. He _was_ an ass yesterday, and he _should_ have apologized.”

“Sounds like you didn’t exactly give him time to before _you_ started being an ass.”

“No one asked you, Pidge.”

“Maybe _you_ should go apologize now.” Hunk suggested.

Lance whipped his head around, pulling it back as his lip curled. “Hunk, who’s side are you on?!”

Hunk is giving him a flat look. “The side that gets you to regionals, man. And that side is _Keith_ , whether you want to admit it or not. Shiro was right when he said the best way for you both to go is to work together and audition as a duo.”

He has a point there. Lance backtracks a little, mentally flailing as he tries to find something to cling to. “Okay, alright, so I admit that Shiro has a point, and it _would_ be nice if we could get along. But the fact remains that we don’t.”

“You just have to get along well enough to dance together.”

“I dunno if that’s possible.”

“Maybe if you’d suck it up and stop acting like a dick—“ Pidge says dryly.

“He started it!” Lance snaps

“And you weren’t helping!”

“Get your gremlin self off of me! I don’t want any of your sass!” Lance says, pushing at Pidge to try to shove them away from him. They dead weight a little, and push back against Lance’s protests. Lance takes a particularly sharp elbow to the side and hisses in pain. “Hunk! Get the little demon off me!” He whines, falling over to lean against Hunk’s side in much the same way Pidge is leaning against his. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hunk with his best pout.

Hunk shakes his head. “No can do, buddy. I agree with them. You were being a dick. He was obviously there to make amends, and you didn’t exactly make it easy for him.”

Lance groans, throwing an arm over his face, using his other one to keep a steady hold on his popcorn bowl. “Nobody loves me!”

Pidge shifts against him, adjusting until they’re comfortable using his whole side as a pillow. He can feel the smugness coming off them in waves. “I think the fact that we still hang out with you is proof that we do.”

Hunk nods. “You just need some tough love sometimes.”

Lance huffs loudly, trying to adjust himself so he’s comfortable, but he gets another Pidge elbow in his side for his efforts.

“So…” Hunk starts.

Lance groans. “Can we please just drop it?”

“Not gonna happen,” Pidge says, resting their popcorn bowl on their stomach and tilting their head back against Lance’s shoulder. “Continue, Hunk.”

“So…” Lance groans louder in an attempt to cut him off, but he continues, speaking over Lance’s wordless protests. “Do you want to go to regionals?”

“You know I do…” He grumbles, still hiding his face beneath his arm.

“So then you should go and apologize and beg him to give you a chance.”

“What?!” Lance lifts his arm to glare up at Hunk, waiting for the moment when he admits it’s a joke. Unfortunately, he looks completely serious. Lance pouts. “Hunk, you’re crazy! I can’t do _that_!”

He raises an eyebrow, gazing steadily down at him. “Why not?”

“Because!” Lance flails his arms around, making vague gestures. Pidge makes a grunt of annoyance as he jostles them. “I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of him! Like, _so_ many times! He thinks I’m an idiot!”

“And you’re not?” Pidge says.

Lance scowls, reaching around them to clap his hand over their mouth, muffling their surprised squeak. Pidge claws at his hand, but he doesn’t budge. He smirks a little in victory and rests his other arm on top of their head. “As I was saying, he thinks I’m an idiot and he made it _very_ clear that he doesn’t want to dance with me—aH! PIDGE! GROSS!”

Pidge thoroughly licks his hand and he rips it away, grumbling loudly as he wipes his palm on their shirt. “Calm down, Beyonce.” They say, tilting their head back against him so he can meet their gaze. “He came to talk about duoing, so obviously he was considering it.”

Lance glares at them, then glances away. He can feel his bottom lip stick out in a pout as he adjusts the popcorn bowl on his lap. He sinks further against Hunk’s side. “Only because Shiro made him… Shiro can guilt you into _anything_.”

“Oh man, it’s true. He’s got that _dad_ voice that just makes you feel so _guilty_ about disappointing him.” Hunk says, shuttering slightly. “Just thinking about it makes me want to bake him cookies tomorrow just so he has no reason to be upset with me.”

Pidge nods. “He’s always been like that. Keith grew up with him, so he’s a little immune, but even he can’t hold out against Shiro for long, but—“

“ _Speaking_ of Shiro, why did _no one tell me he’s Keith’s brother?_ ” Lance cuts in, feeling his agitation rise.

“Not now, Lance.” Hunk says, patting his head. He hunches, but leans into the touch.

He crosses his arms over his chest, careful not to knock over the bowl on his lap. “Just another thing you guys kept from me.”

Pidge rolls their head against him. “Oh my _god_ , Lance, we already went over this. I’m _sorry_ , okay? Let’s _move on_.”

He sniffs dramatically. “Easy for you to say.”

“ _Anyway_ , Shiro may have made him go to the park, but the fact that he was there at all indicates that he _has_ given it some thought.”

“Doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Lance grumbles. “He already said he was going to find someone else to duo with.” At that, Pidge sits up, putting their back to the couch and giving Lance the blankest, flattest, most unamused stare he’s ever seen. His brow furrows. “What?”

Pidge sighs, closing their eyes and raising a hand to rub their eyes beneath their glasses. Then they turn, sitting cross legged and sideways on the couch to face him. They adjust their glasses on their nose, and then lean forward, resting their elbows on their knees. With their popcorn bowl still cradled on their lap, they press both hands together. Breathing deeply, they exhale and point their hands at him. “Boy, let me tell you something about Keith.”

“Is it his deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secret? Cause if not, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Pidge slaps his leg. “Shut up for just a second and listen.” Lance does just that, eyeing Pidge warily. He has to admit, he might be a _little_ curious. “Keith is _terrible_ with human interaction. There’s a reason he just goes to the academy, does his thing, and insta leaves. We’ve been friends for _years_ and I haven’t even hung out with him there.”

“…Soooo?”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “So he will _literally_ not find anyone else. He doesn’t _know_ anyone else at Altea, and if left to his own devices, he would rather not to go regionals than approach someone random about this. Agreeing to audition as a solo dancer was one thing, but actually _finding_ someone to duo with? Nu uh, not gonna happen. There’s a reason Shiro basically dumped you guys in each other’s laps.”

Lance looks away, firmly holding onto his pout. “Shiro will probably just find him someone else to dance with…” He says, shooting for sounding offhanded but he doesn’t quite pull it off. He can _feel_ his determination crumbling. He really, really wants to go to regionals…

Pidge waves him off, a small smirk forming at the corners of their lips like they can just _smell_ their imminent victory. “There isn’t anyone else who can keep up with him and his choreography. Shiro wasn’t lying when he said you were one of the only people who’s a quick enough study to learn a dance in two weeks.”

“A week and a half by now.” Hunk adds.

“Gee, thanks, Hunk.” Lance says flatly.

“Anytime, buddy.” He pats Lance’s head.

“You’re _good_ , Lance. And you’re the only one who can keep up with him.”

Lance feels a smile tugging at his lips. He eyes Pidge sideways. “Was that a compliment, Pidge?”

They roll their eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” His smile widens.

“Even if he _does_ find someone as good as you to duo with, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t care enough about it to dance with someone just to get to regionals.”

Lance’s smile fades. “Then why would he dance with me?”

Pidge’s smirk is firmly in place. “Because Keith can’t turn down a challenge. And _you_ have already challenged him. He won’t admit it, but he _wants_ to prove to you that he can do this. And I think you want to impress him, too.”

“I—“

“Don’t even try to deny it, dude.” Hunk says. “We can see right through you.”

Lance snaps his mouth shut and glares up at his friend.

“I guarantee if you go and apologize to him, he’ll agree to duo with you.”

“Then BOOM!” Hunk claps his hands together, making both Lance and Pidge jump. “The four of us are going to regionals! Road tripping and all hanging out and a new friend—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance cuts him off, pushing himself up so he’s sitting up straighter and he can turn to glare at Hunk. “Who said anything about being _friends_ with Keith?”

Hunk gives him a blank look, one eyebrow raised. “Uh, dude, you’ve been obsessed with him for weeks. If you end up duoing with him, he’s obviously going to end up being one of our friends. He’s already friends with Pidge! That’s one third of us right there.”

Lance scowls and opens his mouth to retort, to say that he _never_ wants to be _friends_ with Keith. Friendly rivals maybe, but not _friends_. Not sleepovers and movie night and hanging out kinda friends. He doesn’t want to _hang out_ with Keith… right? Of course, he doesn’t. Keith wouldn’t want to hang out with him either. He’s sure of that.

Before he can voice his opinions, however, Pidge cuts him off. “Hunk, don’t scare him away from Keith when we _just_ got him this far.”

Hunk smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.” He looks to Lance. “So will you do it? Apologize to Keith and ask him to duo with you?”

They’re both staring at him expectantly. He looks between them, scowling. He’s… conflicted. Yes, he wants to go to regionals. If he’s being honest, he wants to dance with Keith, too. But… the thought of facing Keith after everything that’s happened… it’s mortifying. And Keith _was_ a dick… but he was a dick, too. Ugh, he knows he’s going to give in. He knows he’s going to cave. He knows he’s going to have to swallow his pride and apologize to _Keith_. But he can at least drag it out to make his friends suffer.

But in his silence, Pidge leans forward, a glint in their eyes as a smile slowly spreads their lips. “ _If you change your mind…_ ” They start out softly, before slowly getting louder. “ _He’s the first in line…”_

They’re singing, and Lance’s eyes widen when they realize what’s happening. He throws back his head and laughs. “Pidge! No! Stop!”

Hunk leans toward him on the other side, and in a low voice he sings the background vocals. “ _Take a chance, take a take a chance chance, take a chance, take a chance_.”

“ _Honey, he’s still free, take a chance on him._ ”

“That doesn’t even fit with the rhyme anymore!”

“ _If you need him, let him know, gonna be around. If you got no place to go, if you’re feeling down.”_

“Alright! Alright! I’ll do it!” Lance says, laughing as he presses his hands to his friends’ faces, pushing them both back from where they had leaned way too far into his personal space. “Oh my god, you guys are the worst singers. Stick to dancing!”

Pidge leans back, hands on their ankles, grinning. “Rude.”

“We’ll forgive you though, since you agreed to apologize to Keith.”

Pidge nods. “You just got double teamed!”

They high five again, in front of Lance, and he swatted both their hands away. “You guys are _the worst_.”

Hunk chuckles. “Okay, but seriously, man, you should go catch him at work tomorrow.”

Lance looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Work?”

“Yeah, he said he works at a local bookstore.”

“Why can’t I just see him at Altea?”

Hunk shrugs. “He said he works all day tomorrow, so he won’t be at Altea. You wanna get this sorted quickly, right? So you have more time to practice?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Lance,” Pidge says, giving him a stern look. “You’re going to his work tomorrow. I’ll tell you where it is.”

“But—“

“You’re lucky we’re not making you go tonight.”

“Ugh!”

“Glad you see it our way.” Pidge says, patting Lance’s arm before flopping down across his and Hunk’s lap. “Now that that’s settled, can we watch a movie already? I still have homework I need to get started on.”

Lance snorts, adjusting his popcorn bowl on top of Pidge, next to theirs. “We all know you’re not going to sleep until like three am anyway.”

“True, but working through your problems tires me out. I need a change of pace.”

“You make it sound like I’m a problem child.”

Hunk snorts. “Lance, you’ll always be our problem child.”

There’s some arguing over what movie to pick, but they eventually settle on the 80’s classic, Flashdance. Pidge is firmly against it, complaining that they’ve watched that movie a million times already. Hunk doesn’t care, and Lance knows it’s because he actually enjoys it. Though he does throw out the suggestion of Dirty Dancing if they’re going for a dance classic. Pidge groans at that one, too. Lance eventually wins because this _is_ still his moping day and Flashdance is one of his childhood comfort movies.

They talk through most of it. Lance and Hunk recite along with several scenes just to annoy and amuse Pidge. Lance and Pidge eventually have a contest for who can throw the most popcorn into Hunk’s mouth. They lean against one edge of the couch while Hunk goes to the opposite. Pidge wins, but Lance blames it on Hunk cheating.

And of course Lance performs the whole “He’s a Dream” scene for his friends, complete with a chair he drags in from the dining room. He’s had this dance scene memorized since he was a kid. Him and his older sister, Norah, learned it together. When he reaches up to tug on the invisible chord, Pidge comes up behind him and dumps popcorn kernels over his head.

It’s a good night, and it keeps him from worrying about what he’s going to say to Keith tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

Keith shoves the book onto the shelf with a little more force than necessary. He’s got one of his earbuds in one ear, the chord of which trails down through the neck of his work polo. He’d much rather have his bigger headphones. They’re much more comfortable and better at blocking out the world, but they’re way too big and not very professional. While he’s stocking books or doing chores in the back, his managers don’t care if he listens to music, as long as he’s discrete. So he uses his simple earbuds.

 _King and Lionhearted_ plays in one ear, part of his chill playlist that Allura helped him make, just barely louder than the music that plays over the bookstore’s speakers. The general din of conversation is blurred and dull, surrounding him like a familiar blanket of white noise. The smell of coffee from the bookstore’s small coffeeshop fills his nose, mixing with the calming and pleasant scent of books and paper. He’s going through the mindless motions of stocking books, straightening the shelves, and making sure everything is where it belongs.

He hasn’t had to deal with any customers today. They made the wrong coffee order earlier and the barista offered it to Keith as he was walking by. He’s been assigned to stocking and back room work all day, which means he can listen to music and avoid people for the entirety of his shift. It’s not a busy day, so the noise and crowd around the shelves isn’t bad. And the store isn’t in that much disarray so he can take his time fixing up the shelves without needing to rush.

Overall, it’s a pretty good day as far as work days go. The atmosphere is calm and soothing, his hands are kept busy without needing too much concentration. He doesn’t have to deal with people, customers or coworkers.

By all rights, he should be calm and content at the easy money.

But Keith still manages to find himself agitated, and it has nothing to do with work. There’s a scowl permanently twisting his face. He can feel it, and that might be one of the reasons he hasn’t been approached by a customer yet all day. He’s shoving books onto the shelves with far too much force, which just means he had to adjust them again after the fact. And he’s pretty sure he’s stomping around the aisles.

And it’s all because of _Lance_.

Lance with his stupid cocky smile and his smug ass voice. Lance and the way he has to turn _everything_ into a competition or an insult. Lance and the way he just sounds so arrogant all the time. Lance and the way he just manages to say all the wrong things. Lance and his incredible habit of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Lance with his stupid bright ass smile that had glowed in the afternoon sun. Lance with his loud and genuine laugh that wasn’t at all pretty but still managed to make his chest tighten and his stomach flutter. Lance and his ability to just make everyone around him smile. Lance and his incredibly welcoming energy, at least when it isn’t directed at Keith. Lance and his amazing talent for dancing. The way he always seems to _feel_ the music and let his body just… _move_ without having to practice before hand.

It all gets under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch. It makes him warm and flustered and _angry_ whenever Lance opens his mouth. Whenever his attitude and whole demeanor changes whenever he’s around him.

He hates it. He’s never done anything to him! He hasn’t exactly been the nicest person, but it’s usually only after Lance baits him into it. And yesterday… yesterday he _had_ tried to be nice. He had _tried_ to talk to him like Shiro and Allura had asked him to, but Lance was just… _Lance_. There had been a moment when he had thought that maybe, just maybe, Lance might actually be civil. But that moment had quickly died when the whole duo thing had been brought up.

Keith clenches his teeth just thinking about it, his jaw working. He accidentally knocks over a couple of books which results in the whole line to suddenly be slouched over. He groans in frustration and sets to work fixing it.

At one point his music is interrupted by the sound of his ringtone, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket far enough to see the screen.

It’s Shiro, of course. The man had been calling and texting him nonstop since last night. Keith had told him that it hadn’t worked out with Lance, so he isn’t sure _why_ his brother is being so insistent about this. He hits the ignore button and shoves his phone back in his pocket as his music starts up again.

When he’s done checking through the non-fiction section, he’s already at the front of the store, so he decides to check over the main displays up front.

He heads for the main aisle that leads from the front doors deeper into the store. There’s a lot of bigger tables set up here, with displays of newer releases. He pauses at them, checking them over and making sure any books that were taken on the big pyramid-like displays are replaced by some from the standby piles.

When he’s done with that, he picks up the top book from the standby piles that are just stacked around the display and opens it, propping it upright. The doors behind him open with a faint chime and a soft breeze of air rushing in. He firmly ignores it. It’s not his job to greet customers. Well, it sort of it, but he’s not in the mood for it.

Then a body brushes past him down the main aisle and Keith stiffens, catching sight of tanned skin and soft brown hair.

He feels the air catch in his breath in the split second it takes him to realize that it’s just a girl. She’s shorter than him, a lot younger, and her hair is pulled back into a high pony tail. She’s holding the hand of a boy, probably somewhere between eight and twelve? Keith isn’t sure. He’s shit with guessing ages. The kid is practically dragging her along, a strangely familiar bounce in his step. His skin is the same color as hers, and his hair, though also soft brown, is cut short and reminds him distinctly of—

No. Nope. He’s not thinking about Lance. Not today. Not ever again. God fucking dammit. Yeah, he’s been agitated all day, but he’s been firmly _not_ thinking about the source of his frustration. Yet one look at a couple of Latino kids and his mind is already there again, dwelling on what it really shouldn’t be dwelling on. This is supposed to be a nice relaxing day at work, and he’s not going to ruin it by thinking about Lance, or auditions, or regionals, or Shiro and his shitty, shitty ideas.

He tears his eyes away from the kid’s retreating backs with a jerk of his head. He turns sharply, intent on stomping away from the display to disappear back into the shelves. But then his hand hits something as he turns, he over corrects when he jerks and his hip bumps the table, and then suddenly the display pyramid of books is crashing down.

He stands there, staring at the books scattered around the table along with plastic bookends that had kept them upright. He can feel heat creeping up his neck, and he just _knows_ people are staring at him. He purses his lips together, determined not to look around and make eye contact with anyone. Fists clenching and unclenching, he sighs loudly, closing his eyes for a moment as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He hears a snort of barely contained laughter somewhere behind him.

Great. Just great. Exactly what he needs.

Then he sighs again, much softer and shorter and full of defeat as he sets to work picking up the books and reorganizing them.

“Smooth, McMullet. Smooth.” A voice drawls behind him.

Keith stiffens, freezing as his fingers curl around a book. His eyes widen as a shiver runs down his spine because no, there’s no way…

He turns slowly, pivoting his hips so he can look behind him. He’s careful to keep his face blank, but he can’t help the way his chest tightens when he sees him.

Sure enough, it’s Lance. Because the universe doesn’t hate him enough already. He’s standing just a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, weight on one hip, posture relaxed, and that familiar shit eating smirk on his lips.

Keith bristles, shoulders tensing as he frowns. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Lance’s smirk widens enough to show a sliver of teeth. “Is that going to be our standard greeting now?”

Keith’s eyes narrow for a moment before he turns away. “I don’t have time for this…” He grumbles, setting to work putting the display back in order. He hopes Lance will just somehow… go away. He’s never that lucky, and as he’s already established: the universe hates him.

Lance comes into his vision again, leaning his hip against the table, arms still crossed over his chest. Keith refuses to look at him. “Hey, I’m not the one who knocked everything over. Not so graceful when you’re not on the dance floor, huh?”

Keith glances up at him, his own smirk fixing itself to his lips. “You think I’m graceful, huh?”

It has the desired affect: Lance’s eyes widen, his smirk fades, and his cheeks get a shade darker. “What? _No_.” He sputters, then looks away.

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes as he goes back to his work. They’re silent while he rearranges the books back into their pyramid-like display. Keith can feel himself getting more and more agitated. Lance is just standing there, staring at him, and saying nothing. Why can’t he just go a day without seeing this guy?

When he finishes, he sighs and looks up. “Lance, what’re you even doing here?” He tries to sound civil. He really does. But he can’t quite hide all the irritation from his voice.

Lance shrugs, waving a hand around. He seems to have recovered his confident demeanor. “What? Can’t a guy come to a bookstore to, you know, look at books?”

Keith gives I’m a flat look. “No offense, but you don’t exactly look like the reading type.”

Lance gasps, putting a hand to his chest. “Why I never!” He puts a hand on his hip, cocking it out as he puts the other on the table and leans on it. “Well _you_ don’t look like an asshole, but I guess we’re both wrong, huh?”

Keith stares at him for a moment, doing little more than blinking. He’s _pretty_ sure that was supposed to be an insult, but it also came off as half a compliment. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the table in a mirror of Lance’s earlier position. He lets a smirk of his own curve his lips. “So you’re saying I _don’t_ look like an asshole?”

Lance opens his mouth for a moment, then snaps it shut, his face scrunching up in concentration. He looks frustrated and a little constipated. “What? _No_ , that’s not what I— Stop twisting my words!”

Keith’s smirk widens, and he can feel it in the way his cheeks rise a fraction. There’s a light blush across Lance’s cheeks, and Keith would be lying if he said it wasn’t cute against his completion. “Then tell me, Lance, what _do_ I look like?”

Lance’s eyes narrow, lips pursing. He leans back, crossing one arm loosely over his chest and raising his other hand to rub his chin. It looks almost comical, and Keith stands there, smile never fading as he waits. He makes a lot of humming sounds before he finally nods. “Like if Mel Gibson and Patrick Swayze had an Asian baby and raised it in the 80’s.”

Keith’s eyebrows go up, and he exhales a short laugh. Tilting his head to the side, he says thoughtfully, “I think I should probably be offended, but I’m more amused by the fact that you know so many people with mullets.”

Lance grins, tilting his chin down as he cradles it between his thumb and forefinger, positioned like a finger gun. He stares at Keith through half lidded eyes that look far too smug. “What can I say? I do my research. I’m _that_ dedicated to insulting you.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but the ghost of his smile is still there. “I’m honored.” He says with the driest sarcasm he can muster. Then he turns away, heading away from the main aisle and weaving back toward the bookshelves.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” Lance practically yelps, stumbling after him.

Keith glances at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “I’m working.”

Lance rolls his eyes, catching up to Keith and walking beside him. “Well, yeah, no shit, I got that from the whole uniform thing.” He says, gesturing to Keith’s shirt before gesturing to the table behind them. “But weren’t you just working over there?”

Keith nods. “Yeah, and now I’m working over here.” He takes a sudden turn down another aisle of books, and is only a little surprised when Lance falters and quickens his pace to catch up. He weaves through the store with Lance keeping step beside him. Lance stops when he reaches the hallway that leads to the back rooms.

He frowns, hands in his pockets and shoulders slumping. “Where are you going now?”

Keith glances back at him without pausing. “Work. Shouldn’t you be looking at books?”

Lance scowls, looking away, “Yeah, yeah…”

He disappears in the back room, taking a moment to simply breathe. He closes his eyes, trying to center himself. He hadn’t been expecting Lance to be here. He’s _never_ seen Lance here. At least… not that he remembers. Maybe he’s just jumping the gun a bit and Lance is actually an avid reader and he _is_ just here for books? Pfff, yeah, right. If that’s the case, why is he following Keith around?

Maybe… Maybe he’s here to talk about yesterday? To talk about duos and dancing together?

A strange feeling tightens in Keith’s chest, and he puts a hand to it, fingers tightening in his shirt. He frowns, feeling the weird fluttering in his gut. Oh no. No, no, no. He is _not_ feeling _hopeful_.

But he is. He’s… feeling hope. Actual hope that Lance will… No, he’s not going to think about it. This is still _Lance_ he’s talking about. No matter what his intentions are, he’s still an ass. An unreliable, infuriating ass. And Keith isn’t going to get his hopes up for nothing.

He finds one of the book carts he’s already loaded up with books that need to be restocked, and he pushes it out of the room. He’s not really sure what he’s anticipating, but he feels his hands tense around the handle as he steps out into the store once again. He didn’t think he _wanted_ Lance to still be there, but he can’t deny that he’s relieved when he is. He’s standing at one of the shelves near the back hallway, a small, thoughtful frown on his face as he holds a book open in his hands.

He had to have been waiting, because the second Keith appears, he’s snapping the book shut and turning to look at him, his small frown gone and his smirk back in place. “There you are. I was starting to think maybe you got lost.”

Keith pauses, staring at him with one eyebrow raised. “I told you I’m working. That involves going into the backroom sometimes.”

Lance rolls his eyes, waving the book in his hand at Keith. “Yeah, yeah, keep your sass to yourself, mullet man. You know, the more I talk to you, the more I can see how you and Pidge have been friends for so long.”

Keith feels his lips twitch at that, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want Lance to think he’s amused by everything he says. After all, he _is_ still mad at him, and he has every right to be. He _should_ just walk away, but something keeps him fixed to the spot. Probably curiosity. That has to be the only thing that would keep him willingly in Lance’s presence for this long. “What’re you doing?” He asks.

“What?”

Keith nods to the book in his hands.

Lance looks down at it like he had forgotten it was there at all. A faint blush creeps up his cheeks, but he just shrugs, waving the book around so Keith can’t properly see the cover. “Oh, you know, looking at books. This _is_ a bookstore, after all. I came here to look at books.” He sounds like he’s floundering, despite how casual he tries to sound.

“Are you planning on going somewhere?” Keith has the sneaking suspicion that he was just waiting around near the back hallway for Keith to come out. To bug him some more, probably. But he finds himself curious about what book had caught his attention. He knows nothing about Lance except his taste in music and that he dances. He doesn’t know what kind of things could possibly catch his attention, what things he’s interested in, and… Keith is weirdly curious.

“What?” Lance blinks at him, face blank.

Keith gestures to the sign above the shelf that reads, ‘Foreign Travels.’

Lance follows his gesture and blinks again, “Oh.” He looks down at the book in his hand, then shoves it back onto the shelf. “No, I’m not— it’s none of your business.” He snaps, suddenly harsh as he glares at Keith.

It’s Keith’s turn to stare, blinking and dumbfounded. Then he feels his face harden, lips pursing. “Fine.” He says, already pushing the cart away. He walks as quickly as he can without actually running in the store.

“Keith, wait!” Lance shouts, and he can hear his footsteps as he runs to catch up. Keith holds his scowl and keep his pace as he weaves around aisles. “Keith, wait up! Geez, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to like, snap at you or whatever.”

Keith finally slows, but he tells himself it’s only because he’s nearing his destination. Lance comes up alongside him, and he turns to glare at him. He’s not looking at him. His eyes are on the ground, with one hand in his pocket and the other scratching the back of his neck.

“I was… looking at a book about Cuba.” He says it with an expression that looks a little pained, a little embarrassed, and a lot like he swallowed something sour.

Keith isn’t exactly happy with him, but that damned curiosity gets the better of him. “Cuba?”

Lance nods and looks away. “Uh, yeah. Three of my grandparents immigrated here from Cuba when they were kids. I’ve, uh, never been. But I’ve always thought I’d be nice to see where they came from, you know? Where I come from…” He’s quiet, and Keith feels a strange little tug at his heart at how vulnerable he sounds. Like he thinks Keith is going to make fun of him.

He looks away as he pulls the cart to a stop close to the shelves so he’s not taking up the whole aisle. “That sounds… really cool.” He says earnestly. It must be nice to have a heritage to connect to.

When the teasing doesn’t come, Lance instantly brightens. “It does, doesn’t it?” Keith starts picking books off the cart and turns to the shelf, looking for their counterparts, but he sneaks a sideways glance at Lance. He leans back against the shelf, hands in his pockets. His eyes are still on the ground, and a small, soft smile is playing across his lips. It’s unlike any other smile he’s seen from him so far and his heart clenches before he has to look away. “I wanna take my _Lita_ there one day. She hasn’t been back since she moved here when she was still a kid.”

“Lita?” Keith asks without looking at him, because he’s not quite sure he can yet. He focuses on picking up books, reading the author’s last name, and finding the rough alphabetical placement before searching for the other books like it.

Fortunately, stocking doesn’t take much concentration, so he can focus on his conversation with Lance.

Unfortunately, he can focus on his conversation with Lance and the fact that he’s way too aware of him right now. And the fact that he’s seeing a weird softer side to Lance. He doesn’t like what it’s doing to him. He’s content with the ‘attractive but huge asshole’ image he had of him.

Lance laughs a little. “Oh, right, sorry. _Lita_ is like, our nickname for our grandma.” Keith sees him shrug out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a little childish, I guess, but I still have younger siblings and stuff, so it sticks.”

Keith hums in acknowledgement, unsure of what to say to that. He never really thought he’d talk to Lance, of all people, about family. He feels like he’s gotten a small glimpse into his life that he was never meant to see, and it makes him a little uncomfortable. Still, the silence between them is getting awkward, and he knows he has to say _something_. He knows if he lets this opportunity to actually be civil with Lance pass, Shiro will kill him.

“So…” He starts, grabbing a couple books and dropping into a squat so he can reach the lowest shelves. “If three of your grandparents are from Cuba, where’s the other one from?”

He’s not sure if that’s a good question to ask, or if that would be too personal, but Lance snorts loudly, and Keith looks up to see him rolling his eyes, his smile widening. “Fucking _Scotland_.” He says, incredulous. “I mean, that part of my family has been in the states for generations, but they’re originally from _Scotland_. But he’s my dad’s dad, so that’s how a family of Latino kids ended up with the last name _McClain_.”

Keith can’t help himself: he laughs. Something about Lance just invites him to laugh along. Just like what Keith observed at the park yesterday. He puts one hand on the floor and the other on the shelf in front of himself to balance himself as his shoulders shake. When he looks up at Lance, grinning, he’s staring at him with a wide grin, cheeks slightly flushed. There’s something in his eyes that Keith doesn’t get a chance to decipher before he’s continuing.

“I cannot _tell_ you how many weird looks I’ve gotten when I’ve had to fill out applications with the last name McClain but then checking the box for hispanic.” One of his hands is out of his pocket, waving around animatedly. He’s not looking at Keith anymore, but he’s still smiling. “Or how many looks I’ve gotten when someone sees my name first but then I show up.” He says, gesturing to himself.

“Oh my god,” Keith says, shaking his head as he starts shelving again.

“Right? It’s hilarious. I mean, you’re lucky your last name at least fits you.”

Keith shoves a book onto the shelf and looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure if I should consider that racist or not.”

Lance laughs, a little forced, but the slight blush across his cheeks remains. He looks away, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh, speaking of last names. I gotta ask. If you and Shiro are brothers, why…” Lance waves a hand around, at a loss for words.

Luckily, Keith knows exactly what he’s asking. “Why do we have different last names?”

Lance smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, that.”

Keith shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and reaching for a couple more books off the top shelf of the cart. “We’re both adopted.” He says it as casually as he can. It’s not a big deal to him. It’s just as much apart of his life as his favorite childhood cereal being Apple Jacks or the fact that he’s lactose intolerant. It’s just a fact about him that doesn’t really have much emotional significance. But he hates telling people because they always feel weird about it.

There’s a long moment of silence, which he expects, and then he hears Lance’s strangled, “Oh.” His voice is higher than usual, and Keith sighs. “I— uh, I didn’t know, man. I—“

Keith reaches out and slaps a hand over Lance’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. Lance stiffens and jerks at the sudden contact, and his eyes widen, snapping over to look at Keith. Keith glares at him. “I’m going to stop you right there. _Don’t_ start apologizing. There’s nothing to apologize for. I was young when my birth parents died. I don’t remember them. I was adopted when I was five. They had already adopted Shiro. Our parents had us keep our birth names because they wanted us to have a connection to our ancestry or whatever, but we’re no less apart of the family.” He says, rattling off all the answers to the usual questions. He sounds tired and bored, and he really hopes Lance will get the hint. “It doesn’t _matter_ that I’m adopted because I have great parents and a great brother.” He pauses, expression twisting as his lip curls. “Well, sometimes he’s great. Other times he’s a pain in the ass.” Like lately. Lately Shiro has been a _huge_ pain in the ass. He meets Lance’s gaze. If it’s even possible, his eyes have gotten even wider since Keith has been speaking. Keith’s bottom lids twitch, gaze narrowing. “I’m going to let go of your mouth now, and I don’t want to hear a single word of pity or sympathy, or I’m going to find the biggest book in this store and beat you with it, got it?”

Lance nods, and Keith releases him, slowly lowering his hand. He holds his gaze, silently daring him to say it. He holds Keith’s gaze for a second before looking down, then to the side, then up. His face is scrunched up in an expression that looks contemplative, but it’s hard to tell. When he finally looks at Keith, all that conflict is gone and he’s smirking again. “So you can give me all the blackmail material on Shiro?”

At that, Keith feels a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah, I’ve got tons.”

“Did he have braces?”

“For two years.”

“Oh my god, yes. I _knew_ that smile was too perfect to be natural. Do you have pictures of him with zits?”

“He had the worst acne until he was twenty. He had to go see a dermatologist about it.”

“This is the best day of my life.”

Keith hums, a small smile on his face. He never would have thought that one of the best ways to bond with Lance was to tell him embarrassing things about his brother. He can’t wait to tell Shiro about this. With a couple books in hand, he drops into a squat again and gets back to shelving. There’s a silence between them, but it doesn’t feel as awkward and strained as it did before. That itch under his skin is gone. He’s content with the silence, but it’s unsurprising when Lance breaks it.

“Hey, uh, I didn’t mean to like… come here and share all this personal family info with my rival.” He says it like a half apology, and Keith can tell he’s about to go somewhere with this, but he can’t help but point out the one thing about that sentence that bothers him.

“I never asked to be your rival.”

“Uh, you don’t _ask_ to be a rival. It just happens. That’s how rivals work.”

“I’m not your rival, Lance.” Keith says, looking up to give him a flat stare.

Lance makes a sound and waves him off. “Whatever, Keith, you can’t deny our rivalry. Rivalness. Rival-tude? Rival-dom. Rival-ship.” Keith rolls his eyes and looks back to the shelf. Lance gently taps his leg with his shoe, knocking him off balance.

He shoots out a hand to steady himself. “Lance!” He snaps, swatting his shoe away.

“See?” He says, grinning down at him. “We have a spark. Don’t deny our spark, Keith.”

Keith feels heat rising up his neck, and he knows it has nothing to do with anger or frustration. How can Lance just… _say_ things like that? Without thinking about the other implications? He sighs. “Why are you so annoying?”

His grin never falters. “It’s a gift.”

“Did you get a gift receipt so you can return it?”

“Okay, first of all, rude.”

“Second of all, if you’re going to stand around, at least make yourself useful and hand me those books off the top.” He says, pointing to the cart.

“Hey! You can’t ‘second of all’ my ‘first of all’!” He says, but he’s already pushing off the shelf to walk around to the cart.

“I just did.” Keith says with a small smirk as he takes the books Lance hands him.

Keith finishes off restocking and organized the shelves in both the sci-fy/fantasy and mystery sections. The whole time he scoots the cart along, Lance follows, either leaning against a shelf or handing Keith books when he gets to the lower shelves. The whole time they mostly talk about Shiro. Lance asks all sorts of questions: does he drool in his sleep? What are some embarrassing moments? Did he used to be skinny and gangly or was he always built like that? Keith is more than happy to reveal all his brother’s embarrassing memories, reliving his childhood with Shiro through Lance. Lance laughs a lot, and it does weird things to Keith’s heart. He also finds it hard to look at him when he’s smiling so openly, so he’s glad to have the excuse of work to keep his eyes busy.

At one point he tries to get Keith to spill some of Pidge’s embarrassing teenage moments, but Keith firmly refuses. “There’s no way in hell I’m telling you anything. I value my life.” Lance is persistent though, and only switches off the topic when Keith says that Pidge has too much blackmail on him, too. Unfortunately, the subject he switches to is pestering Keith about _his_ awkward teenage moments.

When he runs out of books for this section, he checks what the next pile of books is on the cart and pushes himself to his feet. He pushes the cart through the store to an aisle that’s a couple of rows over, Lance trailing behind him. He’s still not sure why Lance is there, but… he doesn’t really mind his company. At least not right now.

“Are you even supposed to be wearing these?” Lance says, and Keith jumps when he’s suddenly close, pulling out Keith’s earbud and letting it dangle over his forefinger. When Keith looks up, he’s standing way too close, and smiling that obnoxiously blinding smile.

He looked back to the shelf and shoves a book into place, shrugging. “Officially? Yeah, I’m not supposed to have it. Unofficially? My managers don’t care as long as I keep it discrete and still do my job.” Lance hums, letting the earbud drop to dangle in front of Keith’s shirt. Honestly, he had forgotten all about it. He hadn’t noticed when his playlist had reached it’s end and the music had stopped. But now he’s very aware of the fact that the only music playing is the radio station from the store’s speakers.

How did he not notice?

He blames Lance. The guy’s a distraction.

“I’m also not supposed to be talking to people on my shift, either.” He says, smirking a little as he glances over at Lance.

Lance scoffs, waving Keith off before putting his hands on his hips. He’s self assured and confidence, and Keith isn’t sure why that isn’t annoying him like it usually does. “Pfff, no problem. If anyone comes over, you can just say you’re helping me find a book.”

Keith gives him a flat stare, willing his amusement to not betray him. “Lance,” He says, voice so blank that Lance looks at him for a moment, smile fading in his confusion. “We’re in the maternity section.”

Lance blinks, then turns his head to look at the sign above the shelves next to them. He opens his mouth, closes it. Blinks. Then opens it again and lets out a small, “Oh.”

Keith laughs, unable to contain it. It bubbles out of his throat and bursts from his lips before he can stop it. He bends at the waist, one hand on the book cart. When he looks up, Lance is looking at him strangely, but there’s a small, soft smile on his lips. Keith doesn’t like that smile. It’s too… genuine, earnest, and… adorable.

He straightens and coughs, clearing his throat as he turns back to the book cart. “So… don’t you have some books to find or browse or whatever?”

“What?”

Keith picked up a few books and drops into a squat, setting the books on the floor as he steadies himself with one hand on the shelf. He picks the first off the top and finds the author’s name, instantly scanning the shelf for it’s counterparts. “You said you were here to look for books because this _is_ a bookstore.”

“Oh, heh, right, that.” Lance sighs then, and slides down the bookshelf until he’s sitting on the ground next to Keith. He stretches one leg out in front of him and bends the other knee, resting one arm on it. “I, uh… I didn’t actually come here to look at books…” He says, voice small and hesitant. It’s so different from what Keith is used to that it gives him pause.

He glances over at him, but Lance isn’t looking at him. His fingers are idly fidgeting and playing with the colorful threaded bracelets around his wrists, and his eyes are locked on the motions. Keith feels a sliver of anticipation slide down his spine to coil in his gut. He feels suddenly nervous, and he knows it’s because Lance does, too.

“You don’t say?” He says flatly, putting a teasing edge to his voice that he hopes will get Lance to loosen up.

It works enough to make him glance up, lips twisting into a frown and eyes narrowing. When he looks away, his frown definitely looks more like a pout than anything else. “ _Anyway_ , I came here to talk to you…”

Keith can’t really say he’s surprised. He kind of had a feeing. But he’s still a little caught off guard at the sudden bluntness. He stares at Lance, but he’s refusing to meet his eyes again. “You did?”

Lance purses his lips together and nods. “Yeah, I, uh…” His face scrunches up as several emotions pass over his face. His brows are furrowed and his nose wrinkled. His upper lip is curled and it looks like he might be clenching his teeth. “I wanted to… _apologize_ for, you know… being an ass, or whatever… yesterday.”

Keith is… a little shocked. He hadn’t been expecting him to just come out with it. Honestly, if you had asked him this morning, he would have said he never expected Lance to apologize. A huge weight that he hadn’t really realize he’d been carrying is suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He feels like he can breathe again, and he feels so much lighter for it. His shoulders relax, and there’s an ache there that indicates he’s been a lot more tense than he thought.

He smirks a little, tilting his head to the side. “Can you say that without looking like you’re in pain.”

He didn’t think it was possible, but Lance’s face scrunches up even more. “No. This is causing me physical pain. Excruciating, physical, very real pain. I may need to go to the doctor after this. I may need a band-aid. I might start bleeding.” He touches his nose and then pulls his hand back to look at his fingers. “Am I bleeding, Keith?”

Keith rolls his eyes, adjusting his weight. He sits on the ground, back to the book cart and facing Lance with his knees bent and arms wrapped around them, fingers locked in front. From this angle, everything looks so… surreal. Like it’s just him and Lance. With the book shelves and the book cart surrounding them, blocking them from view, and being in a section in the corner of the store and isn’t frequently visited… it’s like they’re all alone, despite the music, and conversation, and coffee smells surrounding them.

“Then why bother apologizing to me at all?” There’s still a teasing edge to his voice, but his voice is softer. He’s honesty curious, and his heart is pounding in his chest.

Lance huffs, turning away from Keith as he mumbles, “Because you deserve an apology. You came to talk to me, and I was an ass, and I don’t want you to hate me, and—“ He cuts himself off with a loud groan, leaning back against the shelf as he slouches a little more. He covers his face with both hands, and his voice comes out mumbled and in so much of a rush that Keith can’t distinguish the words. “AndIwantyoutoduowithme.”

He blinks, trying to make sense of what he had heard, but it was honestly so jumbled that he can’t. Lance is still hiding behind his hands, but his chest is suspiciously still. “What?”

Lance’s chest heaves as he breathes in a deep breath, and then lets it all out in a very similar rush. It’s louder, but all his words still blur together. “Iwantyoutoduowithme.”

Keith’s brow furrows, his lips pursing into a small frown. “What?”

A loud whine comes from behind Lance’s hands.

Keith sighs, unlocking his fingers to roll forward up onto his toes before falling forward onto his knees, sitting on his heels. He’s not really sure what gives him the courage to do so, maybe it’s the obvious uncertainty and embarrassment coming off of Lance in waves, but Keith reaches forward and wraps his fingers around Lance’s wrists. He feels Lance stiffen, but he doesn’t resist as Keith gently pulls his hands away from his face.

Keith is pretty sure his heart stops. Lance is staring up at with wide, uncertain eyes. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his brow is drawn together, causing wrinkles to line his forehead. He looks… almost scared, and it tugs at Keith’s heartstrings.

Tugs hard enough that suddenly his heart is jumpstarted into overdrive, and it feels like it’s bruising his ribs from the inside out.

Keith’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry. He’s trying to school his expression into something neutral. Something that won’t set Lance off, but it’s hard when his body is currently trying to kill him. God, he hopes his palms aren’t sweaty right now. He’s not wearing his gloves. He licks his lips, trying to buy himself a couple more seconds to get himself together. Lance’s eyes flicker down at the movement, widen a fraction, and then snap back up to meet his gaze. There are lines of tension in his expression that weren’t there a moment ago.

His eyelashes are short but dark where they line his bright blue eyes, and his skin looks so soft and flawless. They’re so close that Keith can _smell_ his deodorant and just… _Lance_. He should be disgusted, or at least unaffected, but he’s not.

And that’s kind of scaring the shit out of him.

“I can’t hear you when your hands are in front of your face, idiot.” He says, eternally grateful when his voice comes out calm and steady.

Lance visibly gulps. He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, and opens them as he exhales a long sigh. His breath only shutters sightly. When he meets Keith’s gaze again, Keith is startled by the sudden fire there. All the nervousness he had seen before is gone. His face is set in determination and seriousness and confidence, and holy shit… it’s hot as hell.

He’s pretty sure his heart can’t take this, but he can’t look away.

“I want you to duo with me.” He says, slowly and calmly.

They sit like that for several long moments. Keith doesn’t let go of Lance’s wrists, and he doesn’t pull away. Keith can’t look away from his eyes, and Lance doesn’t look away either. His eyes flicker back and forth between Keith’s, searching for… something. His lips are pursed slightly, and if Keith listens carefully, he can hear him breathing heavily through his nose.

He wonders if Lance’s heart is beating as fast as his.

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows what he _wants_ to say. He knows what he wants to do. He also knows he wants to tease Lance and put him through hell after he was an ass after Keith tried to ask the same thing. Part of him even wants to refuse altogether because he can be petty and hold a grudge and Lance has already proven to be more trouble than he’s worth.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything, however, because the sound of a throat being cleared loudly rips them both out of their daze.

Keith jerks back, head whipping up to stare dumbfounded at woman standing over them. She was smiling kindly at them and looking a little awkward. Her hands rested on a rather large belly. “Sorry to, um, intrude. But I was hoping I could get past you two?” She asks, not unkindly, as she gestures to the shelf behind them. She sound almost apologetic.

Keith lets go of Lance’s hands like he’s been burned and scrambles to his feet. Lance is only seconds behind. “Oh! Uh, yes, of course. Sorry.” Keith mumbles, taking several steps back to give her space as he busies himself with fiddling with the books on the cart. As she looks over the shelves, Keith glances sideways, catching sight of Lance on her other side. He’s standing there awkwardly, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his neck while he turns his head away from them both.

She picks a book off the shelf, gives Keith a small smile, and steps away. “Thank you, sorry again.”

“No, it’s no problem, really.” He says hurriedly, and she gives him a small wave as she walks away. He watches her go, sighing before he turns to look back at Lance.

Who is still avoiding eye contact.

Keith sighs again, running a hand through his hair. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks down at his feet. “Sure.”

There’s a pause, and then, “What?”

Keith glances up at him through his lashes. Lance is finally looking at him, expression blank and eyes wide. Keith lifts his chin, shrugging and turning to stare at the shelves. “Sure, I’ll duo with you.” Once again, he’s grateful that his voice holds and betrays none of the queasiness he feels inside.

He glances at Lance out of the corner of his eyes in time to see his face morph from blank and surprise into bright and overjoyed. It’s a gradual change, one that starts in his eyes and spreads out over his face like ripples. His lips slowly tug upward, revealing white teeth and making his cheeks rise, squinting his eyes a fraction as they crinkle at the corners. “Really?”

Keith sighs. What is he doing? “Yeah, really.”

Lance’s expression drops for a second, eyes narrowing and lips pouting in suspicion as he eyes Keith. He crosses his arms over his chest. “That was… surprisingly easy. What’s the catch? Why’d you change your mind? I thought you didn’t want to dance with me? I was sure I was going to have to beg.”

Keith felt a smirk tug at his lips. “If you want to beg, by all means, go ahead.” Lance’s gaze narrows into slits. Keith sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and he fully blames Lance. He pulls his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest, fingers tapping on his upper arm. “If you would have _listened_ to me yesterday, I was _going_ to ask you the same question.” He says pointedly, enjoying the look of guilt that takes over Lance’s expression. “Don’t get me wrong, I still think you’re an ass and an idiot, but I trust Shiro, and he says you’ll be able to learn my choreography. And… I can see that you’re serious about this.”

When he’s done, he watches as Lance’s expression brightens again, twice as quickly as last time. “So we’re doing this? We’re making this happen?”

Keith sighs once more, making it loud and dramatic and sounding like defeat. He hangs his head, shaking is slowly. “Yes, Lance. We’re doing this.”

And then suddenly there’s loud, wordless screaming, and Keith is being wrapped up in the tightest hug he’s received in years. Arms wrap around him, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around as Lance’s laughter fills his ears. Before he can really enjoy the warmth of it, or really get over his shock at all, he’s being set down on his feet, and Lance is holding his shoulders, standing at arms length and beaming at him.

“You won’t regret this! You won’t, I promise. We’re going to get to regionals for _sure_.”

Lance’s hands are warm through his shirt and it’s more distracting than he wants to admit. Arms still crossed over his chest, he huffs, glaring at Lance. “You have to take this _seriously_ and learn my choreography.”

“I’ll be the most serious student ever. So serious that the Joker will be questioning me. So Sirius that I’ll jump into the veil.”

Keith refuses to smile. He does. He refuses. He can feel it, but he holds it back. “And you have to _learn_ my choreography. No complaining, got it?”

He’s nodding. “Got it. No complaining.” He steps forward and wraps Keith up in another hug. “Thank you, thankyouthankyou. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Feeling awkward, Keith unfolds his arms and tentatively wraps them around Lance’s back. He puts them there lightly, but he’s not sure it’s enough, so he gently pats him on the back. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. He’s way too aware of this hug for it to feel natural. Even when he’s being _nice_ Lance has a way of getting under his skin.

Why did Keith agree to this again?

“Yeah, uh, no problem.” He says, feeling both grateful and disappointed when Lance pulls away. They step back from each other. Lance shoves his hands in his pockets, and Keith crosses his arms over his chest. The silence is almost unbearable. So he says the only thing he can think to say: the question that’s been bugging him for days. “So… um, if regionals is such a big deal, why did you miss solo auditions?”

At that, Lance’s face drops. It’s so instant that Keith immediately regrets asking the question. Lance glances away and shrugs. “Oh, that, heh. My, uh… my niece broke her arm and I had to take her to the hospital…”

Keith blinks. That… isn’t what he was expecting. “Oh…” He’s not sure what to say, so he tries, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Lance shrugs again, looking up and smiling sheepishly. “It’s fine. She’s fine. I convinced her having a cast is cool cause people can sign it and stuff. I even told her I wish _I_ had broken something so I could have a cast." He chuckles offhandedly, waving it off. "But anyway... now we’ve still got a second chance to get in, yeah? So it’s all good.”

At that, Keith lets himself smile. “Yeah, all good.”

For a moment they simply stand there, staring and smiling, and it’s such a soft moment that Keith is certain Lance can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

But then the moment is broken by a child’s screeching.

“Lance! Laaaance! _Lance_!”

Lance winces, giving Keith a look that’s almost apologetic before taking a few steps forward until they’re side by side. “Over here, Leo!” He calls.

Within seconds, a small boy skids to a stop at the opening of the aisle, spies Lance, and runs straight toward him. As he reaches him, Lance side steps, bends down, and wraps his arms around the boy’s middle, lifting him off his feet and into the air. He holds the boy on his hip, legs flailing in front of him and aims flailing behind him.

“Put me down!” He demands. “Lance! _Put me down!_ ”

Lance tsks his tongue. “What have we told you about yelling and running in stores.”

The boy goes limp in defeat, head hung. “Not to do it…” He mumbles.

Lance nods, and sets him down on his feet. Then suddenly there’s a girl there, speed walking to catch up to them. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and— Keith recognizes them from earlier. Now that he can see her face, she looks just like Lance. Their noses are a little different, and the shape of their jaws, but their eyes and the tilt of their mouths are the same.

“Sophie, weren’t you supposed to be watching him?”

She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip out to the side. There’s a book in her arms, but Keith can’t see what it is. “I _was_ , but then he took off trying to find you. You said you would be quick. Why are you _here_?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she reads over the sign that says ‘Maternity.’

Lance’s cheeks redden, and his face scrunches up as he mirrors her stance. “I was just talking to Keith here.” He says defensively, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Keith.

Her eyes slide to him, looking him up and down. Her brows knit curiously, but it’s Leo who asks, “Who’s he?”

At that, Lance’s signature smirk is back. The one Keith hates. Then Lance is throwing an arm over his shoulder, and he can’t quite bring himself to hate it _this_ time. “Keith is my dancing partner for regionals.” He announces proudly. He gestures to the others. “Keith, this is my little sister Sophie and little bro Leo.”

Both of Sophie’s eyebrows go up. “I thought people hated dancing with you?”

“ _Excuse_.”

“Lance!” The boy is tugging at Lance’s shirt, holding up a book. Keith recognizes the words ‘Percy Jackson.’ “Look! I picked out a book and it’s _awesome_.” He waves to Sophie behind him. “And Sophie got a book, too.”

“That’s great, nerdling.” Lance says, ruffling his brother’s hair.

Leo’s eyes narrow suspiciously as he looks Lance over. “Where’s your book?”

“I, uh,” He rubs the back of his neck. “I… didn’t find one.”

“Laaaance, you said if I got a book _you_ would get a book.”

“I know, but—“

“What’s the matter, Lance? I thought you were an avid reader?” Keith says, smirking sideways at Lance.

Lance glares at him, then points at his face. “I don’t need your sass.” He hisses, and Keith chuckles, covering his mouth as Lance turns back to his brother. “I just… didn’t find one yet. I, uh, I don’t know what’s good? Maybe next time—“

“I can make a suggestion.” Keith says suddenly, drawing the attention of all three of them. He feels his face heating up. He… hadn’t really meant to say anything. But Lance had gotten him relaxed and it was habit to help customers out with books, so… He decides to roll with it.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, eyebrows raised.

Keith turns away from him to hide the heat rising up his neck. His ears feel warm. “Yeah, follow me.” Without turning to see if they’re following, he weaves between aisles to the other side of the store, to the sci-fi section. Here he slows down, walking past shelves with his eyes scanning the book spines until he gets to the A’s. He pulls out a book and turns to hold it out to Lance.

He takes it hesitantly, eyebrows raised as he reads the cover. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Seriously? Wasn’t this made into a movie.”

Keith nods, and taps the book’s cover. “Yeah, but the book is much better. It’s one of my favorites. I think it’s… goofy enough to hold your attention.”

Lance’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smile curling his lips. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

Keith shrugs. He can feel his own smirk. “You can be both.”

“Lance! I”m hungry!” Leo says, tugging on Lance’s shirt. “Can we get food on the way home?”

Lance snorts and ruffles his hair. “You _know_ mama will kill us if we’re not hungry for dinner. How about a milkshake?”

The little boy’s eyes brighten, looking so much like a young Lance when he smiles. He’s missing a couple teeth and his hair is shorter, but Keith can definitely see the resemblance. “Yes!”

“Alright, let’s go pay for these books.” The boy is already walking off, Sophie following him after sending a curious and sharp look over her shoulder at Keith. Her lips curve into a small smile that reminds him far too much of Pidge for him to feel comfortable. Lance turns back to him, bringing Keith’s attention back to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith says with a small nod. He catches himself fidgeting and fingers plucking at his pants, so he crosses his arms over his chest. “We need to start practicing if we’re going to do this.”

Lance grins. “Oh, we are.”

Keith smirks, tilting his head to the side. “Yeah, _if_ you think you can keep up.”

Laugh laughs. “Oh, is that a challenge?”

Keith doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, it is.”

Lance smirks, tilting his chin downwards as he leans forward slightly to gaze up at Keith. He’s already walking backwards, hands on his hips. “Bring it, mullet.” He says, voice low and playful. It sends shivers right down Keith’s spine. Then Lance laughs, turns on his heel, and walks away. He waves the book in the air over his shoulder. “Thanks for the book!”

Keith spends the rest of his shift with a small smile playing across his lips. It apparently makes him approachable enough that several people come up to him to ask for help.

He blames Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting the ball rolling here! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Sora and I are very pleased with it!
> 
> We've seen a lot of comments with songs that people think these guys would dance to, and I love them! If you have a particular song you think fits them for this fic, don't hesitate to let us know either here or on our personal tumblrs or on the Shut Up and Dance With Me tumblr! Even if I don't use them, they're nice to hear. 
> 
> Also, I haven't yet decided on how I plan on approaching the Spanish that's going to happen later in this fic. I want to be able to do Lance some justice, but sadly I took German in school and Sora is Danish. We don't have any Spanish speaking friends, so I would like to ask if there's anyone who would like to volunteer to help me when it comes to some of the lengthier Spanish that might appear later? Preferably someone who's grown up with enough Spanish that they know all the intricacies of slang and natural sounding (as opposed to stiff and formal sounding) Spanish. I'd really like to have someone I can go to for advice if/when I need it ^^
> 
> Also, if you're curious, I answered an [ask](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/152045227921/regarding-the-dance-au-what-songs-do-the-paladins) about what kind of music each of them like to listen to, at least what Sora and I headcannon for this fic.
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/152268264179/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-4-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	5. Step With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **last resort** : why am I even in this chat?  
>  **uptown hunk** : cause you’re one of us now, man  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : there’s no escape  
>  **vive la lance** : you love us ;)  
>  **last resort** : definitely not  
>  **Need-A-Hand** : Now you see what I put up with  
>  **LLunarGoddess** : we’re not so bad once you get used to us  
>  **I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Welcome to the family, Keith!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this fic was originally going to be called "Step With Me" based on the song by Mika. 
> 
> Real quick, I just want to say wow, holy moly, thank you to EVERYONE who volunteered to help us with Spanish translations! Like jeez, I didn't expect so many. I probably won't respond to everyone, cause it's honestly a lot, but I'm very very grateful to all of you. I've been super busy and stressed between writing this, writing for work, and travel recently, so I haven't had a chance to think about how I want to handle the Spanish in this fic or to respond to anyone yet. Please bare with me! 
> 
> Onto this chapter, I really wanted to do mini snippits of all the days leading up to the audition in a segment I like to call the "Bonding Montage™". Originally, it was all going to be in one chapter, but because of who I am as a person, it would've ended up being hella long. So I decided to break it down into two (still kinda long) chapters.
> 
> All of the dances referenced in this chapter are linked in the end notes. Enjoy!

**[ THURSDAY ]**

Keith is already regretting his life choices.

“To be honest, with your mullet, I was expecting a lot more eighties songs or emo remixes.” Lance says from his seat against the mirror. Both of their bags have been tossed to the side, and Keith’s phone is in Lance’s hand, hooked up to the speakers as Lance browses through his music. Keith had made a playlist specifically for today with all the songs he has full or partial choreography for.

They’re in room 4D, which had taken a lot of stubbornness on Keith’s part and a lot of whining on Lance’s. Keith insisted that he wasn’t going to practice in a room with a shoddy auxiliary cable. Lance had eventually given in when Keith reminded of him of his promise about no complaining.

“I don’t listen to that much eighties.” Keith grumbles, stretching an arm across his chest. He knows he can’t deny it completely. Lance had heard him listening to Billy Idol after all.

Lance looks up at him, eyebrows raised. A small smirk curves his lips. “I don’t hear you denying the emo music.”

Keith glares at him, switching arms. “I don’t listen to emo music either.”

Lance scoffs, lifting Keith’s phone and dangling it between a thumb and forefinger. “So you’re saying that if I go through all the music in your phone, right here, right now, I won’t find _any_ music that classifies as emo?”

Keith holds his glare and purses his lips. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks. “It was a phase.”

Lance’s face breaks out in a wide grin. “Aha! I _knew_ it! You _do_ have emo music on here!”

“It’s only there for nostalgic purposes.”

“Oh yeah? Like what? When you get all moody and broody?”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. He throws an arm behind his head, putting a hand on his elbow to stretch it. He looks away, turning so his side is to Lance so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Like when Pidge and I go on road trips.”

The silence is uncharacteristic. After a few beats of it, Keith glances back, eyebrow raised. Lance’s eyes are blown wide, his jaw practically on the floor. He’s not really sure what would warrant that reaction.

Keith blinks. “What?”

“No. Way.” Lance breathes, blinking out of his stupor. “ _Pidge_ had an emo phase?”

Oh. _Oh_. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Did they never tell you that?”

“No!” Lance is grinning now, and Keith isn’t sure how his cheeks don’t hurt with the sheer size of it. “I cannot _believe_ — You’re kidding me, right? This has to be a joke.”

Keith shakes his head, switching arms. “Nope. Pidge went through the emo phase with me. Dyed their hair and everything.”

“Oh. My. _God_.” Lance throws back his head and laughs. The motion rocks him backwards and he hits his head on the mirror, cutting off his laughter abruptly. “Oooow,” He whines, but he’s still grinning as he rubs the back of his head. “You _have_ to give me pictures.”

Keith shakes his head, letting his arms drop. He swings them, crossing them in front of him before pulling them back. “Nope, not gonna happen.”

“Keith, _please_. This is a _need_.”

Keith shakes his head again, giving Lance a small smile. “Nope. They would kill me. Or at least try to maul me. You can't dance with me if Pidge breaks my legs. Besides, they have too many photos of me to retaliate with.”

“Ugh, why must you ex-emos always stick _together_.” He groans, slumping against the mirror and letting his arms flop to the sides. He pouts, glaring at Keith. “Hunk is my _best friend_ , and I would _totally_ sell out his embarrassing high school pictures for a donut and some coffee.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the small smile on his face. He turns his back to Lance to hide it, walking out into the center of the room. “I don’t know why Hunk puts up with you.”

“Hey, Hunk _loves_ me.”

“He’s too good for you.”

“Would Shiro have embarrassing pictures of you two in your emo phase?”

Keith freezes, his smile instantly disappearing. He turns around slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Lance’s grin is back, along with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Oh, I dare.”

Keith sighs, waving a hand at him. “Just pick a song. We only have this room for an hour.”

Lance huffs and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Party pooper.” But he does as he’s told. Keith stretches out his legs as he waits, doing his best to ignore all the muttered comments about his music taste.

Unfortunately, there’s only so much he can take.

“Just pick something.” Keith groans.

Lance scoffs. “How about you cool your jets, hot shot? This is a big ass playlist, and a big decision! Besides, how am I supposed to know what dances are _good_ or not?”

“They’re all good.” Keith huffs.

“Pfff, yeah, okay. But they need to be _regionals_ worthy.”

“Just… pick some songs and I’ll demonstrate them for you.”

Lance looks up at that, eyebrows raised and eyes wide as he blinks. Then his expression settles into something more… suggestive. His eyes go half lidded, a smirk curves his lips, and he tilts his head to the side as he waggles his eyebrows. “Oh ho ho, gonna put on a personal show for me?”

“Lance,” Keith says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. He ignores the heat that’s crawling up his neck. “Don’t make this weird.”

“I take offense to that. I never make things weird.”

“You’re the epitome of weird.”

“Rude!”

“Just pick a song.”

“Fine!” He looks back down at the phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen. “This one. It’s go time, mullet man. Show me what we’re working with.”

The opening to _Rather Be_ starts up, and Keith immediately lets it wash over him. A small smirk tugs at his lips as his eyes drift closed as he takes up his position in the middle of the room. His head bobs loosely, and his foot taps to the beat. He breathes deep at the pause, and then the lyrics start and Keith is moving.

The muscle memory comes easily, and he’s a little thankful that he’s practiced this one _a lot_ recently. He hates to admit it, but he really does want to show off a little for Lance. And this is the perfect song to do just that. Lance couldn’t have picked a better one to start off with. This is the song he had been planning to do for solo auditions. He won’t tell Lance that, though. He’d rather let the guy think that he’s usually this smooth remembering all of his choreography.

Still, he’s glad he actually gets to do this dance for Lance. Make him watch. Prove to him that he _can_ dance, and he can do it well. Hopefully make him shut up for once. It’s just like he wanted it at auditions: Lance’s eyes on him. His undivided attention. Lance being forced to watch as Keith shows him what he’s capable of. Impressing him. Except unlike auditions would have been, they’re alone, and that adds a whole new level of intimacy that Keith expected to be awkward. Instead he feels a little thrill run through him, and—

And now he’s the one making it weird.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he lets the music and lyrics tug at his muscle memory, dragging his body around like a puppet. In a way, he has perfect control. In another, he’s a complete slave to it.

His arms alternate between rigid and flowing movements, jerking and locking into place before sliding into the next movement. His steps are precise, shifting and altering his body weight and balance to better accommodate the movements his arms make. He spins and steps. Flow, stop, move, pop. There’s big movements and small, more precise ones. He grabs at his clothes, slides his hands along his body, gestures widely with his arms, rolls his hips, all the while his feet carry him around the dance floor.

He doesn’t watch Lance. There’s too many movements to focus on one place for long. His body is constantly turning, spinning. His head whips around. This way and that. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging some strands loose from his pony tail. He looks up, whips his head to the side, then back front, looks down, flips his hair. He has no time to focus on anything. Not Lance. Not himself in the mirror. So he goes through the movements with his eyes half lidded and unfocused, putting all of his concentration into not second guessing himself, letting his body react the way it had been trained to. He _knows_ this dance. He knows it like the back of his hand. And he just needs to trust his body, his instincts, to follow through.

This dance has a lot of movements in it. One constantly flowing into the next. A lot of emotion shown in the way his whole body gets into it, his head, his limbs, his hips. He ends up on the floor, legs and arms crossed as he rolls his shoulders. It’s a slow enough moment that he takes a second to look up at Lance.

What he sees makes his heart jump into his throat.

Lance is staring at him with wide eyed awe. His lips are parted slightly, face relaxed. He looks… completely blown away, and Keith feeds on that. But then the seconds have passed, and he’s throwing himself across the floor, legs and arms getting into it. Then he’s on his feet again. The chorus builds. He jumps. The beat picks up with it, and his feet dance quickly in measured steps. He alternates between fast movements and slow ones, rolling his hips and running his fingers through his hair. He can’t bring himself to look at Lance again.

When the song ends, Keith is left panting. He puts his hands on his hips, chest heaving with every breath. He bends at the waist a little, letting his hair fall in front of his face. A lot of it has come out of the small ponytail. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t choreographed that dance with his hair in mind. He has the length to flip it around, so why not? It keeps him from having to look at the audience for too long.

He straightens, running a hand through his bangs to get them out of his face, and looks at Lance. As soon as they made eye contact, Lance’s mouth snaps shut and his brow furrows. He looks down quickly. “That was, uh…”

“Yeah?” Keith prompts when he trails off.

“Uh, good. I guess. Yeah, pretty good.”

Keith is grinning. “Now try saying that without looking like you’re having a tooth pulled.”

“Yeaaaaah, that’s not gonna happen.”

Keith sighs. “Laaance.”

“I’m _trying_ , okay? Yeesh, get off my back.” Lance still hasn’t looked up at him. He’s scowling down at Keith’s phone, thumb scrolling through the playlist.

Keith sighs, giving up trying to make eye contact. He walks over to his stuff and grabs his water bottle, guzzling several mouthfuls before lowering it, gasping for air as he wipes his mouth. He pulls out his hair tie and puts it between his teeth as he gathers up his hair. Once it’s secured behind his head again, he turns to look at Lance.

He’s staring at him again, face contorted into a glare.

Keith scowls. “What?”

Lance shakes his head, looking down again. “Nothing.” Before Keith can push it, Lance continues talking. “Why don’t you have like, any of my girls on here?”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Your girls?”

“Yeah! Like Shakira—“

“No.”

“Lady gaga—“

“No.”

“Rhianna—“

“No.”

“Oh, come on, _Keith_!” Keith is never sure how he manages to pull off his name like an insult, but he does. “Live a little!” He scowls down at Keith’s phone, scrolling, when suddenly he stops. His scowl melts into the largest shit eating grin Keith has seen to date. “Oh, _man_ , you have _Anaconda_ on this list? Are you _serious_? You’ve got to be shitting me right now.”

Keith groans, crossing one arm over his chest while the other goes to his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He should have _known_ not to put that song on there. But it had been late, and he had just hurriedly slapped together everything he knew he had a dance for. “It was on a dare.” He says, sounding exasperated.

“Do tell.” Keith really wants to just punch him.

Keith sighs, waving a hand around in the air and avoiding looking at Lance. His face is on fire and his ears are burning. “I was experimenting with choreographing different dance styles. Matt and Pidge said I wouldn’t, so I did.”

“Oh my god, that’s literally all it took?”

He can just _hear_ that grin in his voice. He makes some kind of noncommittal grunt in the back of his throat.

“In that case, I bet you won’t do it.”

Keith looks at him, face blank. “What? Now?”

God, how is it even _possible_ for him to grin that wide? There has to be some sort of regulations on this shit. How can something so bright piss him off so much? Keith can barely look at him. But he does, because he’s stubborn. He holds his gaze steadily, feeling his expression morph into a scowl in an attempt to smother the blush he feels. The itch beneath his skin is back. It only seems to happen around Lance.

“Yup! Right here, right now.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious, Keith. Dead. Serious.” He tries to darken his expression, but he can’t quite hide that grin.

“No way.”

“Yes way! You said you were going to demonstrate any dance I wanted to see! What if I want to pick this song for auditions?”

“You don’t. You literally just want to see the dance.”

“Okay, guilty, but what’s the harm?”

“I’m not doing it, Lance.”

“What’s wrong, Keith?” He tilts his chin downward, gazing up at Keith with a smirk that makes his blood pressure rise and his stomach boil. “ _Scared?_ ”

“I’m not scared!” He snaps.

“Prove it!” And then he’s hit the track and the music starts playing.

Keith glares at him, but Lance holds his gaze, smirking with all the confidence in the world. Fine. Lance wants to see it? _Fine_. Keith is going to wipe that fucking smirk off his face.

The beat starts along with Nikki’s lyrics, and Keith is in motion. He steps sideways, shaking his hips twice before he’s shifting back, dropping slowly on the balls of his feet, knees out and hands sliding along his thighs. Be bounces twice before he’s standing again, hips cocked and rotating while his arms go through the motions.

Honestly, he’s surprised he even still remembers this dance. It’s been _years_. He guesses his muscle memory is better than he realized. He shouldn’t be too surprised. When he comes up with a dance, he practices it step for step, move for move, dozens, if not hundreds of times. He beats that shit into himself until he can practically do it in his sleep. He refreshes a lot of his favorite dances occasionally, but this one he hadn’t done in ages.

Under normal circumstances, he would be a little hesitant, a little worried that he wouldn’t be able to remember the moves. He might even get a little in his own head, probably stutter step a little.

But… there’s just something about Lance that brings out his grim determination.

Eyes locked on Lance’s, he feels a strange calm come over him. He doesn’t think. He just lets the oddly familiar beats tug his body into place like a mannequin. He doesn’t question himself. He trusts his body to do what it needs to. It’s… a strangely freeing feeling. It’s not often he gets into a zone like this, but damn, does he love it when he does.

Lance doesn’t look away, and even if he tries, Keith won’t let him. Eyes locked, face relaxed, he goes through the dance. It has a lot in common with his usual choreography: the sharp, quick movements interspersed with slower glides. The main difference is there’s a lot more… hips in it than he’s used to. A lot of thrusts and grinds and struts than he usually does. But it fits the song.

When he first preformed it for Pidge and Matt years ago, he had been nervous. He felt awkward doing the moves, like he was somehow doing them wrong, despite all his practice and despite it looking fine in the mirror. He wasn’t sure if he could actually pull them off. Eventually, the laughter from his friends was enough for him to get into it, laughing at himself and the sheer ridiculousness of it. Pidge assured him later that it was actually really good, even if they found it funny.

Now, however, Keith doesn’t feel nervous at all. He feels nothing but the fire that rolls and boils in his gut. His moves get quicker, and he hits them all. There are a few times where he forgets the exact positions, so he improvises with a few body rolls and hip movements to get him into the next part he remembers. His hands slide through his hair, and at some point he pulls out his hair tie all together, flipping his hair and letting it fall in front of his face.

He expects Lance to laugh. He expects some sort of joke. Instead, he gets to watch with increasing satisfaction as Lance’s jaw drops, eyes widening. It’s similar to the look he had given him earlier, but there’s something… different. He looks transfixed. The awe is definitely there, but there’s also something unreadable in his eyes. Surprise? Probably. Keith doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t care. As long as that stupid fucking smirk isn’t there anymore.

Keith closes his eyes for a moment, breaking eye contact for the first time since the song started. He rolls his body, turning sideways and tilting his head back—

And then the song cuts off.

His eyes snap open. He’s mid turn, and he freezes. Without the music playing, this pose feels incredibly awkward, and something akin to self consciousness starts to seep in. It’s covered immediately by a flash of anger.

“Lance, what the—“

“Nope. Enough of that. We’re done.”

Keith straightens, leaning his weight to one hip as he crosses his arms over his chest. “ _You_ were the one who wanted me to dance to that stupid song—“

“And now I’m saying that we’re done.” Lance’s words are clipped, his voice oddly strained. His eyes are downcast, looking at Keith’s phone, lips pursed and brows furrowed. His tan complexion is made darker by the flush settled onto his cheeks. He’s shifting restlessly where he sits.

“Lance, what are you—“

“Done!”

“What—“

“Moving on!”

“Fine!” He throws his arms up in the air, spinning on his heel to turn his back to him. Lance doesn’t make any sense, and he’s done trying to figure him out. They’re not even halfway through their practice, and Keith is already done. Whatever. Fuck him. He wonders if it’s too late to back out. Shiro would probably kill him, but it might be worth it to keep his sanity.

He puts his hair back up, scowling at the back wall. “Just pick something else then. We need to settle on a song.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Lance says mockingly.

They don’t end up picking a song.

 

* * *

  
**[ FRIDAY ]**

Lance bursts into the room with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step.

Okay, yeah, so the day before had been a _total_ shit show, and they hadn’t figured anything out. They had spent the entirety of their practice time arguing over music and Keith demonstrating dances.

He _refused_ to do things Lance’s way, and had somehow managed to notice the _moment_ Lance put his playlist on shuffle. Quite frankly, it was creepy. He could have sworn his poker face was better than that.

Point is, none of the songs or dances really _spoke_ to him. Yeah, they were good. Yeah, he might admit that he likes _some_ of the music on Keith’s playlist. And _yes_ , okay, Keith is a good dancer with some wicked awesome dances up his sleeve. But none of them had seemed… _right_.

Keith had complained that Lance was being picky, and he is! This is a very important decision and it needs to be something that works well for _both_ of them!

Lance slams the door to room 4D open wide as he bursts into the room. “Keith!”

Keith is already there. He’s standing by the front mirror, stretching. At Lance’s entrance, however, he jumps, spinning around to face him, eyes wide and a hand on his chest. “Jesus _fuck_ , Lance!”

Lance ignores him, slamming the door shut as he strides into the room. “I’ve got an idea!”

Keith’s look of surprise has already reset into a familiar scowl. “Whatever it is, I’m against it.”

“Oh, haha, just listen, alright?” His smile never falters as he strides to the center of the room, tossing his backpack across the floor so it slides over to bump against the mirror. “Here, plug this in.” He says, tossing his phone to Keith.

“Lance, what the—“ He snatches Lance’s phone out of the air with minimal fumbling. He should probably be grateful for that. Keith scowls at him, shaking his phone in the air. “I could have dropped this!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.” Lance says, grinning with his hands on his hips. “Thanks for that, by the way. Now plug that in and play the first song there.”

Keith sighs, but walks over to the auxiliary chord. “What are you up to?” He asks, sounding tired.

“Okay, okay, so I was thinking about how we were going about this, how I was looking through your phone and randomly clicking songs so you could show me the dance, right?” Keith nods, eyeing him silently. He still looks suspicious, but Lance definitely has his curiosity. Good. “Alright, so I was thinking that that probably isn’t the best way to go about it? Cause we have to find something that you have a foundation for, but something that fits _both_ of our styles and skill sets. But like, there’s no way for me to _know_ what kind of dance goes with a song until you show me. And if I’m picking the songs, then we could end up wasting a _lot_ of time. Like yesterday.” He’s gesturing wildly and vaguely while he rambles, getting more and more excited. “And let’s face it, yesterday was _awful_. We got _nothing_ done. And I don’t know about you, but that makes me a little anxious. I mean, Pidge and Hunk already have everything down pat, and I’m _sure_ Shiro and Allura are already ready to go, cause they’re both annoyingly perfect. I mean _seriously_ , where do they even get off—“

“Lance,” Keith says calmly but sharply, holding up a hand to make him pause. Lance drags in a lungful of air he hadn’t realized he needed. Dang, had he said all that on one breath? His older sister has always said he’s longwinded, but damn. “Breathe. Do you even have a point to this?”

Lance rolls his eyes, huffing indigently as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Of _course_ I have a point, _Keith_. Just _listen_.” Keith raises one eyebrow, but remains silent. Lance grins, spreading his arms wide. “You’re going to watch me dance.”

There’s a beat of silence. Two. Three. Then Keith speaks, voice flat. “What?”

“You’re going to watch me dance!” Lance repeats, arms still outstretched.

Keith just stares at him. “Why?”

Lance groans, flopping over and shoulders slumping as his arms fall to his sides. “Keeith, try to keep up! You’re going to watch _me_ dance, and then _you’re_ going to show me the dances you have that you think would fit us both. Brilliant, right?”

“That’s—“ Keith cuts himself off, brows furrowing. He presses his lips together into a small frown. He looks almost surprised. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Lance is grinning smugly. “ _Thank_ you. Now, DJ, let the music play.”

Keith does as he’s told, _finally_ , and taps on the song. It immediately starts to play over the speakers. He sets Lance’s phone down on the small table and leans his back against the mirror, one leg propped up behind him and arms crossed over his chest.

Lance would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous, what with Keith watching him like this. But he’s nothing if not a performer, and he _thrives_ on attention. So he embraces the surge of adrenaline that pulses through his veins when he meets Keith’s curious gaze. Oh yeah. He’s going to knock this guy’s socks off.

As soon as the beat starts, he’s moving from side to side, feeling the tempo as he slides, getting his arms into it. “This was my audition song, by the way.” He says, shooting a grin at Keith.

Both of his eyebrows go up at that, and his expression is unreadably blank. But before he can say anything, Lance is moving.

He kicks, brings his foot back, hips rotating with each step and arms going with the lyrics. He snaps, he points, all the while he steps with each beat. Crossing, spinning, crouching, stepping. His gestures fit the music and the lyrics. It’s upbeat, it’s fun, and he finds himself mouthing along with the words, facial expressions getting into the groove with him. He _knows_ his footwork is impressive with this dance, quick paced and fun, and he wants to show off a little.

Judging from the look on Keith’s face, it’s working.

He _owns_ the dance floor, and he makes use of his space. There’s not a moment when something isn’t moving, whether it’s his arms, legs, hips, feet, hands, head. As usual, he doesn’t have a set choreographed dance. It’s more like… a guideline. He knows vaguely what to do, and he rolls with the rest. It’s like, eighty percent planned and twenty percent improvisation. He has fun with it, _feeling_ the music and trusting his body to move in a way he knows will fit.

This is his element. No partners to fit to. No one to tell him how to move. He just does what he knows he can, what feels right. Nothing and no one can touch him.

When the song ends, his chest is heaving with every pant, and his cheeks hurt with the force of his grin. He puts his hands on his hips, looking back to Keith. He hasn’t moved from his spot, and his face is still _mostly_ blank, but Lance likes to think he sees _something_ in there that means he’s impressed.

He’s not scowling at least. Or frowning. He’s not smiling either, but that might have been too much to hope for. It _definitely_ looks like he’s putting some effort into schooling his expression though. Whatever. Let him continue to be _mysterious_ or whatever the fuck. Lance _knows_ he did, and looked, good.

He bows dramatically, sweeping his arms to the side and bending at the waist. “So?” He says when he straightens. Keith just blinks, staring at him. Lance sighs, slumping dramatically. “Keith, come ooooon, humor me.”

He seems to come out of his stupor then, shaking his head. “It was, uh, good.” He’s not meeting his eyes.

“Just _good_?” Lance prompts.

That gets Keith to look at him. Or rather, glare at him. Especially after Lance smirks and waggles his eyebrows. Keith huffs. “That’s all you’re getting, Lance. Don’t push it.”

“Why you gotta be so ruuuuude!” Lance sings dramatically, putting his hands to his chest and stumbling backwards. He holds one hand out to Keith, twisting his torso and hips as he throws his head back. “Don’t you know I’m human, tooooo!”

When his antics don’t get a reaction, he straightens. Keith isn’t looking at him, and he’s not leaning up against the mirror anymore. He’s at the auxiliary chord, which is now inserted into his own phone as he scrolls through it. His brows are pinched slightly, and his lips are pursed in concentration. He doesn’t look _mad_ , or even annoyed. Maybe like… a Keith version of thoughtful?

“Whatcha doing?” Lance asks curiously, coming to stand next to him and eyeing his phone over his shoulder.

“I… I think I have an idea.” He says absently, finding a song and tapping it before setting his phone down. He steps out toward the center of the room.

This time it’s Lance’s turn to lean against the mirror, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Is that so, McMullet?”

Keith ignores him, taking up a starting position as the song starts. “Just tell me what you think. This one’s a work in progress, but we might be able to work with it. And you have to imagine it with two people.”

“Just dance, Keith.” He says, rolling his eyes. Lance is a little skeptical, to say the least. He doubts Keith can just come up with _the dance_ first thing when they had already spent a whole practice session and came up with nothing.

Then he watches Keith move, the steady beat filling the room and— yeah, it’s not much with just one person, but— but with _two_ people, specifically him and Keith, this could be—

The song isn’t even over, in fact it’s only been roughly a minute, before Lance is pushing off the mirror and rushing forward. Keith seems him coming and flinches away, stopping his dance as Lance’s hands come down on his shoulders.

“Keith!” He says loudly, grinning at the other.

“What?” Keith snaps without heat. He looks bewildered. “Lance, you didn’t let me finish—“

“I don’t care, this is it!” He says quickly, volume probably a little too high, but he’s _excited_. “This is it! This is the one! This is brilliant! Let’s do it! It already looks _awesome_!”

Keith’s expression finally cracks, relaxing as a small smile tugs at his lips. Lance feels his heart rate pick up, and blames it on his excitement. “Really?” He asks, voice soft and a little breathless.

“Really!”

Keith’s resulting grin is blinding.

 

* * *

 

**[ SATURDAY ]**

**coo coo motherfuckers** added **vive la lance** , **uptown hunk** , **last resort** to this conversation

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : GUYS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : GUYS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : CHECK THIS OUT

 **coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image

 **vive la lance** : PIDGE!!  
**vive la lance** : YOU TOOK A PICTURE??!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : of course I did  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I had to document this momentous occasion  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : who know when this’ll happen again  
**vive la lance** : I cannot belieVE  
**vive la lance** : delete that riGHT NOW!!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : not a chance  
**uptown hunk** : :O !!!!  
**uptown hunk** : omg  
**uptown hunk** : is that ???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : rigHT??  
**last resort** : uhh what am I looking at?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : LANCE IS READING!  
**uptown hunk** : I’m so proud :’)  
**uptown hunk** : our little boy is growing up  
**vive la lance** : I hate you both  
**uptown hunk** : <33  
**last resort** : I take it he normally doesn’t read  
**vive la lance** : who tf is that anyway?  
**vive la lance** : wtf is that screen name??  
**vive la lance** : is that keith??  
**vive la lance** : fuck you keith  
**last resort** : what gave it away  
**vive la lance** : maybe its my brilliant deduction skills  
**vive la lance** : maybe its your sass ass mouth  
**vive la lance** : maybe I can just SMELL your mullet through text  
**uptown hunk** : maybe he’s born with it  
**uptown hunk** : maybe it’s maybelline :O  
**last resort** : why’re you smelling my hair lance?  
**vive la lance** : hard not to  
**vive la lance** : you reek dude  
**last resort** : sure you’re not smelling yourself?  
**last resort** : p sure you insist on dancing on the 4th floor so no one can smell your sweat  
**vive la lance** : gaSP!!  
**vive la lance** : I do NOT smeLL!!  
**vive la lance** : yOU take that baCK!  
**last resort** : make me  
**uptown hunk** : hate to disagree with you, dude  
**uptown hunk** : but Lance smells like any variation of coconut, honey dew melon, mint, peaches, vanilla, or lemongrass :/  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sometimes brown sugar or cinnamon  
**uptown hunk** : he went through a flower phase too  
**last resort** : what the actual fuck  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sadly it’s true  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s got a very intensive skin care routine and like 5 bottles of moisturizer on him at all times  
**last resort** : do I even want to know?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no  
**uptown hunk** : no  
**vive la lance** : B)  
**uptown hunk** : speaking of things people should know  
**uptown hunk** : we should add shiro and allura  
**vive la lance** : whAT?? WHY??  
**uptown hunk** : they need to see this  
**uptown hunk** : it’s a very special occasion  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : on it

 **coo coo motherfuckers** added **Need-A-Hand** , **LLunarGoddess** to this conversation

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : SHIRO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ALLURA  
**vive la lance** : DONT LISTEN TO A THING PIDGE SAYS  
**Need-A-Hand** : Um? What’s this?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it’s a group chat, dad, get with the program  
**Need-A-Hand** : >:(  
**Need-A-Hand** : I know what a group chat is, Pidge  
**uptown hunk** : pidge, leave dance dad alone, he’s trying  
**Need-A-Hand** : Thank you, Hunk  
**Need-A-Hand** : And stop calling me dad  
**vive la lance** : no can do daddy-o ;)  
**LLunarGoddess** : what’s going on?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : alright, prepare yourselves  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you might need to sit down for this  
**vive la lance** : pidge no!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : pidge yes

 **coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image

 **vive la lance** : ugh  
**Need-A-Hand** : Um…  
**Need-A-Hand** : Am I supposed to be looking at a picture of Lance… laying on the couch?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : well yes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but notice what he’s DOING  
**vive la lance** : UGH  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh my god  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : allura’s getting it ;)  
**vive la lance** : pidge why are you LIKE this?  
**last resort** : because pidge is an evil little demon  
**vive la lance** : THANK YOU  
**vive la lance** : Ive been telling them that for years  
**vive la lance** : tho I prefer the term gremlin  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : pleASE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : like you’re one to talk keith  
**last resort** : I’m innocent  
**Need-A-Hand** : I, for one, would like to put in that no, you’re not  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : HA!  
**last resort** : Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?  
**vive la lance** : ooo shots fired  
**uptown hunk** : guys, I think we should get back to the matter at hand?  
**uptown hunk** : I mean, I’m seriously tearing up over here I’m so proud???  
**vive la lance** : hunk pLS!  
**uptown hunk** : what? I never thought this day would come  
**Need-A-Hand** : I still don’t get what I’m supposed to be looking at?  
**LLunarGoddess** : he’s reading, Shiro  
**LLunarGoddess** : READING  
**vive la lance** : ALLURA! NOT YOU TOO??!  
**LLunarGoddess** : what? I’m proud of you :)  
**Need-A-Hand** : Ooooh I see it now  
**Need-A-Hand** : Congratulations, Lance!  
**vive la lance** : shirooooo  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m proud of you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : (son)  
**uptown hunk** : **son  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lol  
**uptown hunk** : nice  
**LLunarGoddess** : hold on, I’m adding Corn  
**Need-A-Hand** : Corn?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : corn  
**uptown hunk** : corn  
**last resort** : corn  
**vive la lance** : pls dont add corn  
**vive la lance** : Im on a corn free diet  
**LLunarGoddess** : ugh  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’m adding him  
**vive la lance** : WHYYYY  
**LLunarGoddess** : he’ll want to be in on this too  
**vive la lance** : why cant you let ONE PERSON keep their respect for me??!  
**last resort** : you can’t lose what you never had  
**vive la lance** : exCUSE

 **LLunarGoddess** added **I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** to this conversation

 **vive la lance** : sure just invite everyone!  
**vive la lance** : let everyone enjoy my misery!  
**vive la lance** : haha lets get a laugh at lance  
**vive la lance** : why dont we just make a poster and put in on the greeting wall at the studio??  
**LLunarGoddess** : that could be arranged  
**vive la lance** : ALLURA NO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can print out the picture  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : As much as I appreciate being included on general Lance roasting  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Might I ask what the topic is this time?  
**vive la lance** : I feel so beTRAYED  
**LLunarGoddess** : Coran, you have to see this  
**LLunarGoddess** : Pidge, send the picture again  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : gotchu fam

 **coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image

 **I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : It’s just Lance laying on the couch?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Forgive me, friends, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here  
**vive la lance** : THANK YOU CORAN  
**vive la lance** : GOOD TO KNOW I HAVE ONE TRUE FRIEND  
**vive la lance** : coran is my new best friend.  
**vive la lance** : Best Friend™  
**LLunarGoddess** : wait for it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : -waits-  
**uptown hunk** : -crosses fingers-  
**last resort** : -sighs-  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Oooooh good golly!  
**vive la lance** : coran  
**vive la lance** : think about what youre doing  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Lance my boy is that a BOOK in your hands??  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Are you reading??  
**LLunarGoddess** : there it is ;)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hA!  
**uptown hunk** : boom  
**vive la lance** : THAT’S IT! I TAKE BACK THE BEST FRIEND STATUS!  
**uptown hunk** : awesome, my place is still secured B)  
**vive la lance** : nope  
**vive la lance** : I have no friends  
**last resort** : so you finally admit it  
**uptown hunk** : ooooo  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ooOOooOOo  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, play nice  
**last resort** : fuck no you’re not my real dad  
**vive la lance** : shiro is the only one who loves me <3  
**Need-A-Hand** : I wouldn’t go that far  
**vive la lance** : RUDE 3  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’ll consider loving you more now that I know you can read  
**uptown hunk** : hey! I’ve read WAY more books than lance has, do you love me?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Of course, Hunk  
**uptown hunk** : awww <3  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, but lance reading is like a special occasion  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : A celebration is in order!  
**LLunarGoddess** : a party!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : a “holy shit lance likes books” party!  
**last resort** : at least now we know he’ll be able to read the invitation  
**vive la lance** : fuCK YOU  
**vive la lance** : I thought you guys were my friends!  
**uptown hunk** : we am  
**uptown hunk** : **are  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : we am  
**uptown hunk** : and as your friends— you know what, go ahead, get it out of your systems  
**vive la lance** : we am  
**last resort** : we am  
**LLunarGoddess** : we am B)  
**Need-A-Hand** : We am ;)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : We am B{D  
**uptown hunk** : so as I was saying  
**uptown hunk** : and as your friends, we’re proud of you for finally joining the world of the literate  
**vive la lance** : HUNK!  
**uptown hunk** : okay that came out a little meaner than intended  
**last resort** : rekt  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m so proud  
**vive la lance** : I just came here to have a good time and Im honestly feeling so attacked right now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : tbh I thought he WAS illiterate  
**vive la lance** : SO. ATTACKED.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : calm down lance we’re happy for you  
**LLunarGoddess** : they grow up so fast :’)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I remember when he was just a wee lad, tripping over his own feet while dancing  
**last resort** : that was just earlier today  
**vive la lance** : KEITH  
**vive la lance** : WHAT HAPPENS IN 4D STAYS IN 4D  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh ho ho ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)   
**uptown hunk** : oh my  
**LLunarGoddess** : hiding more secrets, are we lance?  
**vive la lance** : NOT LIKE THAT OH MY GOD  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance, what are your intentions toward my brother?  
**vive la lance** : OOOOH MY GOD  
**uptown hunk** : I don’t want to know what happens in 4D  
**vive la lance** : kill me pls  
**vive la lance** : let me die  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nope we like torturing you too much  
**vive la lance** : gremlin  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : gangly giraffe  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so now that your reading secret is out, is there anything else we should know?  
**vive la lance** : WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO BELIEVE I WOULD READ??  
**uptown hunk** : lance  
**uptown hunk** : I’ve known you for what, 7 years? 8?  
**vive la lance** : more or less yeah  
**uptown hunk** : in all those years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly read a book  
**vive la lance** : DECEPTION  
**vive la lance** : (an outrage!)  
**vive la lance** : DISGRACE  
**vive la lance** : (for shame!)  
**last resort** : are you quoting the song from lion king 2?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he is  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s singing it right now  
**Need-A-Hand** : How do you know?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I may or may not be sitting on him  
**Need-A-Hand** : You’re together in the same room and talking in this chat?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : uh yeah of course  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I had to share this moment with you guys  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I, for one, am grateful  
**LLunarGoddess** : same :’)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Thank you, Pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : anytime B)  
**vive la lance** : they came in here and took a picture WITHOUT ME KNOWING  
**vive la lance** : and then STOLE MY BOOK AND SAT ON ME  
**vive la lance** : AND NOW THEY WONT GET THEIR BONEY ASS UP  
**vive la lance** : IM GOING TO GAVE BRUISES FROM YOU YA SHIT STAIN  
**last resort** : you’re going to gave bruises from them?  
**uptown hunk:** gave **  
****coo coo motherfuckers** : hA! gave  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I don’t think Pidge is heavy enough to give you bruises  
**uptown hunk:** they're not, trust me, I throw them around when we dance **  
last resort** : yeah but lance is a fragile child  
**vive la lance** : WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU??  
**last resort** : do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lol  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lance just asked me what chronologically meant  
**vive la lance** : LIES  
**uptown hunk:** aw buddy **  
vive la lance** : ANYWAY  
**vive la lance** : I apologized for that stuff already!  
**vive la lance** : or do you keep grudges in that greasy mullet of yours?  
**last resort** : pidge are you sure he was reading or was he just staring at the pages? Was the book even right side up?  
**vive la lance** : I CAN READ YOU ASS  
**last resort** : I’ll believe it when I see it  
**uptown hunk:** oh! lance can read out loud to us at the party! **  
****LLunarGoddess** : brilliant idea, Hunk!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : A good old fashioned story time!  
**LLunarGoddess** : let’s make it a pajama party!  
**vive la lance** : only if theres pillow fights ;)  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance.  
**vive la lance** : whAT??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dude that’s creepy  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : how do you manage to do the Dad Voice™ through text??  
**uptown hunk:** I think it's the proper caps and punctuation combo **  
LLunarGoddess** : he does that all the time when he’s trying to be stern  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : how often is he trying to be stern with you, allura? ;)  
**vive la lance** : yeah, does he try to punish you? ;)  
**last resort** : I’m going to barf  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I don’t understand, why would Shiro punish her?  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’m politely refusing to answer this line of questioning  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge. Behave.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I just got chills  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : Dad Voice™ too strong  
**vive la lance** : its true, they just shivered  
**last resort** : why am I even in this chat?  
**uptown hunk:** cause you're one of us now, man  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : there’s no escape  
**vive la lance** : you love us ;)  
**last resort** : definitely not  
**Need-A-Hand** : Now you see what I put up with  
**LLunarGoddess** : we’re not so bad once you get used to us  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Welcome to the family, Keith!

 **coo coo motherfuckers** has renamed the conversation **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Roasted Lance”**

 **vive la lance** : HEY!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ;)  
**Need-A-Hand** : What’ve you been reading anyway, Lance?  
**vive la lance** : nothing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, isn’t that one of your favorite books?  
**vive la lance** : NO  
**last resort** : yes  
**Need-A-Hand** : Um?  
**uptown hunk:** uuuh **  
LLunarGoddess** : have I missed something?  
**vive la lance** : YOURE NOT MISSING ANYTHING THERE’S NOTHING TO MISS  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Methinks the Lance-y doth protest too much  
**vive la lance** : corAN WTF  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : 8{D  
**vive la lance** : >:(  
**uptown hunk** : pidge? fill us in?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lance doesn’t want to admit he’s reading this book cause keith told him to  
**vive la lance** : he didn’t TELL me to!  
**last resort** : I just suggested it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : my b  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s reading because keith SUGGESTED a book  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I see  
**LLunarGoddess** : interesting  
**Need-A-Hand** : Hmm  
**vive la lance** : Not. A. Word.  
**last resort** : I’m out of here  
**vive la lance** : YOU ARE NOT  
**vive la lance** : IF I HAVE TO SUFFER SO DO YOU  
**uptown hunk** : hey keith, can you suggest to lance that he clean our apartment?  
**vive la lance** : Im done  
**vive la lance** : Im done with ALL OF YOU  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : go back to reading you piss baby  
**vive la lance** : I WOULD if SOMEONE would GIVE ME BACK MY BOOK  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge. Give Lance his book back.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but daaaad D:  
**Need-A-Hand** : He’s doing a good thing by expanding his horizons and reading. Don’t interrupt him.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ugh fine  
**vive la lance** : get rekt pidge  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance, go back to reading.  
**vive la lance** : you cant tell me what to do!  
**vive la lance** : why would I go back to reading after suffering all this abuSE??  
**uptown hunk:** you're going to tho right? **  
****vive la lance** : not the point hunk  
**last resort** : do you like it so far?  
**vive la lance** : … yeah its alright  
**uptown hunk:** aww **  
LLunarGoddess** : awww  
**Need-A-Hand** : Awwww  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Awwwww  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : awwwwww  
**vive la lance** : SHUT IT

 

 

* * *

  
**[ SUNDAY ]**

Lance stands with his hands on his hips, leaning forward. Keith’s arms are crossed over his chest as he mirrors Lance’s stance. Their shoulders are squared, foreheads pressed together hard enough to hurt. He can feel Keith pushing against him, but he pushes back with just as much force. There’s no way he’s backing down first.

Keith is scowling at him, but he scowls right back. Neither of them has blinked in nearly two minutes. Lance knows. He’s counting. There’s not much else to do in the tense silence.

There’s a knock at the door.

“What?!” Both of them snap in unison.

Keith straightens, whipping his head around to look at the door. Lance isn’t expecting it. He’s still pushing forward. So when Keith’s opposing force is gone, he’s suddenly falling forward. Keith smoothly steps aside as Lance stumbles forward several steps, arms flailing and muttering curses as he attempts to regain his balance.

He doesn’t manage. He falls, catching himself on his hands and knees. “Keith, what the fuck?” He snaps, glaring up at him.

Keith ignores him. “What’s up, Shiro?”

Lance rolls onto his ass, crossing his arms and legs and letting his shoulders rise as he pouts. Sure enough, Shiro is standing in the doorway, one hand on the door frame and the other on the doorknob. He looks over the two, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together. “I, uh, just wanted to come check on you guys. We heard a lot of yelling from downstairs.”

“We’re fine.” Keith says at the same time Lance speaks up.

“It’s Keith’s fault!”

He whips his head around then to glare at him. “How is it _my_ fault?”

Lance ignores him, holding Shiro’s gaze as he gestures to Keith. “He’s impossible to work with! He’s picky! He yells! Nothing is good enough for him! He can’t take a joke!”

“You’re not taking this seriously!”

“I am! It’s been three days! Give me a break!”

“You’re still fucking up things we’ve practiced a _dozen_ times now!”

“Cut me some slack!”

“I thought you were supposed to learn _quickly_?”

“See what I have to deal with, Shiro?!” They’re both yelling now. Lance looks back to Shiro, pointing at Keith. “He’s a pain in the ass!”

There’s a small smile on the older man’s lips, and his brow has relaxed. He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t I know it. I grew up with him.” He says playfully.

“Shiro!” Keith snaps.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Good to see you guys are getting along.”

“We’re not!” They both yell at the same time before exchanging glares.

“Seriously, Shiro,” Lance says after a moment, looking away from Keith. “Have you ever tried to work with him? He’s a more demanding teacher than Coran!”

Shiro tilts his head to the side, a thoughtful look on his face. “I have, actually. Though I don’t remember him being that bad.”

Keith scoffs, tossing his head to get the hair out of his face. Lance glares at him. Fucking _Keith_. “That’s because you’re not dead weight.”

“Hey!” They both look at him: Keith annoyed and Shiro amused. Lance is struck suddenly with the thought that these two are _brothers_. They grew up together. He’s not sure how he never noticed before. The dynamic between them is so obvious now. It reminds him of the vibe he has with his siblings.

He always saw Keith as some snobby wannabe badass with a superiority complex and a standoffish attitude. Next to Shiro, however, he’s starting to see something else. He imagines young Keith, stubborn and pouty, and amused Shiro teasing him, poking at him. A serious and focused Keith trying to show his older brother the dance moves he came up with. Maybe he would be nervous? Shiro is good, after all, and maybe Keith would be aching for his approval. He imagines Keith snapping at Shiro, fixing his positions like he does with Lance, crease in his brows and frown of concentration on his lips. He imagines how Shiro would laugh it off and tease him, infuriate him in a way only older siblings can.

They’re talking again, but he hasn’t been listening.

“Show me,” He says suddenly, getting both of them to turn their attention back to him.

“What?” Keith asks, voice flat and face blank.

Lance feels himself grinning as he sits up straighter, lifting his chin. “Show me a dance you two know.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Lance, we don’t have time—“

“We were getting nothing done anyway. Shiro’s already here. We could use a break. What’s the problem?” He tilts his head to the side, lifting his shoulder to meet it as he grins smugly, eyes going half lidded. “Unless you’re scaaared—“

“Shiro,” Keith says, cutting him off. He turns to his brother. Lance thinks it’s hilarious how often that line works. “Do you still remember the dance we learned last year?”

“The Michael Jackson one?”

“Yeah.”

“I believe so.”

“Let’s do it then.”

Shiro nods, grinning as he steps into the room. “Alright then. But if Allura asks, I’m helping you two settle your differences.”

Keith practically stomps over to where his phone is hooked up to the speakers and points at Lance. “You. Sit. Be silent for once.”

Lance laughs, a cocky grin on his face as he practically purrs, “Sir, yessir.” He doesn’t miss the brief tensing around Keith’s mouth, the flare of his nostrils, or the pink that settles on his cheeks. He doesn’t know what to think about that, it’s probably irritation anyway, so instead he gives Keith a mock salute and slides his ass across the floor so he’s sitting against the mirror. He gestures widely as the two of them take up positions in the center of the room. “Alright, WOW me!”

Keith rolls his eyes, but Shiro smiles.

They start when the music does. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he’s not disappointed. It’s nothing big or flashy, nothing quick paced or wild. But it’s together, quick small movements that are perfectly synced or in timed reactions to each other. It’s mostly in their legs and body angles, but their arms are in it, too, adding slow movements to their quick steps.

Objectively, Keith and Shiro look nothing alike. Yeah, okay, so they both have some kind of Asian heritage, but their features are nothing alike. Black hair, dark eyes, whatever. Their faces aren’t similar at all, and neither are their body types, despite the fact that they both obvious work out. But as Lance watches them dance together, he’s struck with just how… similar the two are. It’s obvious they’re brothers, even if it’s not by blood.

They’re also both handsome as fuck, and that realization hits Lance like a sixteen wheeler going eighty-five on the highway. It straight up knocks the breath right out of his lungs. Leaves him for dead as roadkill. Flat as a pancake and bleeding out. No need to call an ambulance because he is _gone_.

He’s always known Shiro is attractive. He’d have to be _blind_ not to. Hell, even if he were straight, he’d be able to acknowledge the fact that the man is gorgeous. That’s not the part of the realization that leaves him floundering.

No, that honor goes to Keith.

Fucking _Keith_.

Too bad his personality is _ass_.

It should be illegal for the two of them to dance together. Straight up illegal. Round ‘em up, boys! Lock ‘em away! Throw away the key! Let ‘em rot in a dungeon forever for punishment of their crimes.

By the time they finish, Lance is reminded just how comfortable he is with his sexuality. He feels like his bones have turned to jelly and his stomach is doing these weird little flips like it’s on a trampoline, but hey, at least he can breathe again. He’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open, though.

“Take a video, it’ll last longer.” Keith says, smirking. God _damn_ , fucking _Keith_. Isn’t Lance supposed to be mad at him?

Lance wonders if Allura has seen the two of them dance. He pulls out his phone. “Can I?”

Keith rolls his eyes, shoving Lance over as he walks back to his phone. Shiro just laughs.

 

* * *

  
**[ MONDAY ]**

“Oh man, I could really go for a milkshake right about now.” Lance says, stretching his arms over his head.

Keith snorts, looking away as his shirt rides up, exposing tanned flesh. Lance would get way too much of a kick out of it if he saw Keith looking. Even if it was a natural reaction to look toward movement. That’s just way too cliche, and he refuses to fall victim to it.

Is it just him, or is it warm in this stairwell? His throat feels weirdly dry. He must be dehydrated. They _did_ just have a very intensive practice session. Probably their most productive one yet. Their choreography isn’t nearly finished, but they got a lot of work done and they didn’t devolve into yelling at each other like they normally do. It feels like progress.

“You work out and then immediately want a milkshake.”

“Uh, yeah? It totally balances out the calories. Carbs? Sugars? I don’t know. It works, okay?” He says, arms, thankfully, falling back to his sides. They’re walking down the stairs at the studio. Well, Keith is walking. Lance looks like he’s more trudging, putting way too much slump and effort into each step.

Keith rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh yeah? How would _you_ know? Are you a nutritionist, Keith? Are you a doctor? Should I call you doctor Keith from now on?” He puts his hand up to his ear like a phone and puts on a high pitched and perky receptionist voice. “Hello? Paging doctor Keith. Come in doctor Keith. We need you in surgery. It’s an emergency. The patient? Oh, that would be you. You’re scheduled for a mullet extraction stat. We can’t afford to wait! Immediate action is the only answer! While we’re at it, we might as well get that stick out of your ass. It’s so far imbedded that surgery is the only way.”

Keith can’t help it. He laughs, throwing his head back and putting his hand out on the handrail to help him keep his balance. It takes him a moment before he can continue walking. When he looks back at Lance, he’s grinning. “Are _you_ going to be my surgeon?”

Lance nods sagely and seriously. “Of course. I would do that for you, Keith.”

Keith rolls his eyes and tries his best to get his grin under control. He’s pretty sure he fails, but he hops down the stairs two at a time to put distance between him and Lance. “Good! Cause then I can sue the hospital for malpractice and make a fortune!”

“Hey! I would be a good doctor! I’d save your big dumb head from being consumed by that evil mullet.” He calls out, laughter in his voice as he throws himself down the stairs after him.

“Are you a surgeon or an exorcist?”

Keith isn’t sure how, but they end up racing down the rest of the way. That tends to happen more often than not: a silent agreement sealed by a spark in Lance’s eyes and a subtle smirk from Keith. He’s stopped questioning it.

He ends up winning, but Lance’s feet land not long after his.

“Seriously, though, haven’t you ever like, craved a milkshake or ice cream or something after a good work out?”

Keith shrugs. “I haven’t had a milkshake in years.” He takes a few steps before he realizes that Lance has stopped. He turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“What’d you _mean_?” Lance asks, gaping.

“It means I haven’t had a milkshake in years.”

“Not even a Cookout milkshake?”

“Nope.”

“Never?”

“Never.

“ _Never_ never?”

“Lance—“

“Oh no, no no no no, we’re fixing this _right now_.” And suddenly Lance is walking past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him down the hallway toward the front doors.

He frowns. His bike is parked out back. “Lance, where are we—“

“I told you we’re fixing this!” He says, dragging Keith past a very confused looking Coran who’s currently pinning fliers to the main bulletin board. “Hi, Coran. Bye, Coran.”

He watches them go, eyebrows raised. He lifts a hand. “Hi, boys. Bye, boys.”

Keith shoots him a pleading look, but Coran only smiles and shrugs. So much for help.

Lance drags him out the front doors, slamming them open with way more force than necessary. “Hunk! Pidge!” He calls out, dragging Keith across the parking lot. The two in question are standing around an older looking gold car. Hunk is leaning back against it, arms crossed over his chest, and Pidge is sitting on the trunk, legs crossed. They both look up as they approach.

“Uh, what’s up, Lance?” Hunk asks, eyeing Keith curiously. Keith gives him the same helpless pleading look he had given Coran. He actually gets some sympathy out of Hunk, judging from his expression.

“Oh great, what is it _this_ time?” Pidge says

They come to a stop in front of them, and Lance glares at Pidge, lips pursed into a pout. “Hey, I resent that.”

“I’ll change my tone when you get a better track record for spontaneous ideas.”

“Rude.”

“So… Lance. Keith? What’s up?” Hunk says, reeling them back in.

“Right. So can you guys _believe_ that _this_ guy has _never_ had a Cookout milkshake?” Lance says incredulously, lifting up Keith’s wrist and shaking it. “Never! As in _never_ never! We need to fix this! As in stat. As in right now!”

Hunk grins. “A Cookout run? I could go for a milkshake.”

“Hunk, my man! My dude! That’s what I’m talking about!” Lance says, grinning as he pats Hunk’s shoulder. He finally lets go of Keith’s wrist, and he pulls it to him, rubbing it absently.

Keith’s brow furrows, pressing his lips together. “Do _I_ get a say in this?”

“Nope!” Lance practically sings.

“Sorry, buddy.” Hunk says, but doesn’t look or sound sorry at all. He pulls his keys out of his pocket, unlocking his car. “Alright, load up. We’ve got a mission now!”

Lance and Hunk are already opening their car doors when Pidge speaks up. They haven’t moved from their perch on the trunk. “Keith, you’re lactose intolerant.” They say flatly, giving him a look.

He sighs, face twisting into something out of his control as he shrugs helplessly. “This wasn’t my idea.”

“What?!” Lance practically yells, causing them both to jump. He’s staring at Keith with wide eyes. “You’re lactose intolerant?!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

Keith shrugs again. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

“But—! What about— Does this mean—? Hunk? _Keith!_ ” He’s whining and floundering, arms flailing around and gesturing wildly as his mouth opens and closes. He makes a lot of sounds that are probably supposed to be words, but they don’t end up that way. About twenty different emotions pass over his expression before his arms drop to his sides, shoulders slumping as he deflates. He’s _pouting_ again. “Does that mean no milkshakes?” His voice is small and childlike and full of disappointment.

God _dammit_. How does he get wrapped up in this shit?

Feeling incredibly uncomfortable when faced with that small frown that looks so out of place on his face, Keith fidgets. He scratches the back of his neck, looking away. “Well, I mean, I have my pills. So it would probably be fine—“

“Really?” Lance brightens right the fuck up, and Keith knows he’s not getting out of this one.

He sighs, his turn to be defeated. “Yeah, I guess.”

Lance jumps, actually _jumps_ , and fist pumps the air. “Yes!”

Pidge gives Keith a smug little smirk as they hop off the back of the car, eyes glinting. Keith glares at them. Hard. Daring them to say something. They don’t, thankfully.

Ten minutes later, after two minutes of arguing over the auxiliary cable (which Lance wins), a terribly loud blaring of _Milkshake_ by Kelis (which Lance and Hunk sing loudly and dramatically with the windows down, leaning Pidge and Keith groaning), another fight in which Lance wants to repeat the song and Pidge nearly comes into the backseat to get the cable from him (Pidge wins and Lance whines), and several more minutes of Pidge’s music to drown out Lance’s protests (they end up choosing Kamelot, which Keith thinks is pretty tame considering everything Pidge could have chosen from their personal music), they finally make it to Cookout.

“So what kind of milkshake do you want?” Lance asks, leaning across the backseat and getting a little too much into Keith’s personal space. Keith can’t really push him away though. The menu board is on his side of the car. Lance probably just wants to look at it.

Keith shrugs, leaning against the door of the car. “I don’t know.” He flounders. He hasn’t had a milkshake since he was thirteen. What flavors even existed? “Vanilla?”

Lance gives him a flat glare, completely unamused. “Vanilla? Really?”

“What?” He bristles. “It’s a classic.” It is, isn’t it? “Chocolate?”

Lance groans, sagging a little bit. “Keeeeith, come oooon.”

“What’s good, then?”

“Literally everything! Look!” Lance leans over him, pointing out the window at the menu board. Keith can smell him. He smells like warmth and sweat, deodorant and just… Lance. By all rights, it should smell bad, but it doesn’t. It’s making him a little uncomfortable. “Look at all of those flavors! They’re so _fancy!_ ”

“I’m so fancy…” Hunk softly sings from the driver’s seat. The car in front of them moves and they scoot forward a spot.

“Lance, that’s not an answer—“

“Actually,” Pidge cuts in. “It _is_ , sort of. They actually call them ‘fancy’ milkshakes.” Keith looks at the menu board and, huh, what’d you know. “Anyway, they literally have every flavor under the sun, assuming there are forty-six flavors under the sun, _and_ you can mix and combine them. You can have anything.”

Keith feels his lips twist into a frown. There’s… a lot of choices. All of the words kind of just blur together. There’s too many for him to focus on just one, let alone read and analyze all his choices. The car moves forward, and Hunk pulls up to the speaker.

“Hi, how’re you doing today?” Says the crackling voice. Keith still has no idea what he wants. What would even be good? Some of these flavors sound ridiculous. And Lance is still leaning over him, staring intently at the menu board, brows pinched and lips screwed up in thought.

“Doing well, how about you?” Hunk says cheerfully.

“Fine, thanks. What can we get for you?”

“I’ll have a chocolate, banana, pineapple milkshake.”

Keith scrunches his nose up, lip curling. Lance catches his look, glancing at him sideways as he smirks. “I know, gross, right?” He whispers so the speaker won’t pick up his voice.

“Is that even _good_?”

Lance shrugs. “Who knows. He’s a weirdo.”

Pidge pats Hunk’s arm. “A lovable weirdo, but a weirdo nonetheless. I’m convinced he orders it so we won’t steal his milkshake.” Hunk snorts, but he’s smiling as he points to Pidge. “Mocha oreo.”

Hunk repeats the order, then points a thumb over his shoulder. “Lance?”

Lance puts a hand on the back of Hunk’s seat, the other planted between him and Keith as he leans over. “Ummmm, Reese’s Cup, no—caramel fudge, no! Chocolate chip mint.”

Hunk groans. “Make up your miiiind.”

“Deff chocolate chip mint.” He must have caught Keith’s look again, because he turns a playful scowl in his direction. “What?”

“Chocolate chip mint? Really?” Keith’s lip is definitely curling.

Lance gasps loudly, putting a hand to his chest and leaning away, finally. “Keith! You’re one of those _heathens_ , aren’t you?”

Keith snorts. “I could say the same about you.”

“Chocolate mint is a godsend!”

“Then I’m going to happily go to hell.”

“I _knew_ you were a demon! Your history with Pidge suddenly makes so much more sense.”

Pidge laughs, exchanging smirks with Keith.

“Not to interrupt or anything, but what’d you want, Keith?” Hunk says, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“Uh,” Keith looks back to the menu, eyes settling on the first thing that doesn’t sound completely terrible. “Peach cobbler?”

That earns him a few curious “ooo’s” from around the car.

“Adventurous.” Pidge says.

“Living life on the edge, huh, mullet?” Lance adds, nudging him with his elbow.

They get their shakes, and Hunk insists on paying, waving off Keith’s attempt to give him a couple dollars. They drive back to the studio with Pidge’s metal music blaring, all happily eating their shakes with either a straw or a spoon. Lance is making horrendously inappropriate sounds with each bite, slouching low in his seat and throwing his head back. Keith twists in his seat and kicks him, earning an indignant shout, but they’re both smiling.

“How is it?” Lance asks, nodding toward his milkshake. His blue eyes are bright and wide and stupidly innocent with enthusiasm.

Keith shrugs, looking out the window. “It’s alright.”

“Keeeith!”

Truth be told, it’s good, but he’s not willing to relent to Lance that easily. As long as he remembers to take his pill, he should be fine.

Lance proceeds to poke at him, and he slaps his hand away. They end up slapping and kicking at each other until Pidge unbuckles their seatbelt and climbs into the back, despite Hunk’s loud protests. Pidge ends up sitting between them, wiggling and elbowing them both as they get comfortable. Hunk grumbles at them all, complaining that he feels like a chauffeur now. Which, of course, leads them all to speaking in snooty British accents while backseat driving.

Keith ends up forgetting his pill. It’s not fine. But he can’t bring himself to regret his decision to go with them.

 

* * *

  
**[ TUESDAY ]**

“Come on, Keith, just jump in there!” Lance says, nudging Keith’s shoulder with his own.

Keith barely moves. “Nope.”

“Keith!” Lance is whining, and Keith is sure if he looks at him, he’ll be pouting, too. Good thing Keith doesn’t plan on looking at him. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Hunk. He’s dancing in the center of the loose ring of people, having a vague dance off with a couple of guys who had jumped in with them. Hunk doesn’t seem to mind. He’s laughing and keeping up with them, exchanging dance moves.

“No.” Keith repeats.

“What’s the point of even coming out with us if you won’t dance?”

Keith has been asking himself that same question. He thinks the reason he didn’t say no was because it had been Hunk and Pidge who had asked. He likes Hunk, and he misses hanging out with Pidge. If Lance had asked, he probably would have said no. The guy is beyond obnoxious, and Keith hates relenting to him. He feels like it goes along the lines of enforcing bad behavior with children or pets. He would have just said no out of principle. He wouldn’t be here, standing awkwardly off to the sidelines as Hunk, Pidge, and Lance take turns darting into the dance circle, moving to the music in anyway they deem fit.

Unfortunately, it had been Pidge and Hunk who had asked, so Keith had said yes. And now he has to deal with Lance’s needling.

Keith shrugs, but doesn’t answer, earning a huff from Lance.

“I don’t get you.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from Keith. “You act all high and mighty about dancing, you’re good at it, but you won’t just… _do_ it!”

Keith eyes him sidelong, lips curling into a small smirk. “Was that a compliment in there?”

Lance’s eyes widen comically, lips twisting into a frown as he huffs again. “Don’t change the subject, David Bowie!”

Keith tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “You know, I don’t mind that one so much.”

Lance sighs, scratching the back of his neck, other hand on his hip. “Yeah, not my best. I mean, who _wouldn’t_ appreciate being compared to David Bowie?”

“Exactly.”

The song changes, and there’s a brief lull in which the guys shake Hunk’s hand and back out of the circle. Hunk waves them off, grinning. Lance perks up at the new song. It’s something from Matt’s newest playlist, he knows that much. This is the first time he’s hearing it, but that’s not too surprising. He doesn’t usually keep up with Matt’s music.

“My turn!” Lance announces, suddenly darting forward. He turns his back to Hunk, bending over and rubbing his ass on him in a dramatically comical way. Hunk throws up his hands, laughing as Lance backs him out of the circle. Then he poses dramatically, holding it for just a second before he’s dancing.

Keith is… impressed. And if he’s being honest, a little jealous. Lance doesn’t look like he even thinks about how he moves. He doesn’t seem to get in his own head when he dances like Keith does. He just… goes for it. It looks so free and so natural, and Keith can’t help but feel drawn to it. He’ll never admit it to Lance, the dude’s ego is big enough as it is, but Keith enjoys watching him dance.

That is, until he’s making eyes at a group of girls watching, shooting them finger guns and adding a flex to his dancing. Keith sighs, rolling his eyes. God, why does he even associate with this guy? Does he even _see_ how embarrassing he is? He doesn’t seem to, as he laughs off the rejection with a flirtatious smile and keeps going.

“Before you ask, he’s like this all the time,” Pidge says, coming up to stand alongside Keith, arms crossed over their chest. He glances down at them, but they’re watching Lance, a small fond smile on their lips. “But he grows on you, I swear.”

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t know how you’ve put up with it for this long.”

Pidge tilts their chin to glance up at him, smile turning sly. “I stuck with you for longer. That should speak volumes for my patience.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. “You had to. I was your only ally against Matt and Shiro.”

Pidge hums thoughtfully, tilting their head back to look absently upwards. “We made their lives hell, didn’t we?”

Keith smirks. “I sure hope so.”

“Sooooo…” He doesn’t like the way they say that. “ _Are_ you going to dance?”

“No.”

“That’s kind of the point of coming out here.”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know the music.”

“So you’re saying if I put on some music that you _do_ know, you’d dance?”

“I didn’t say—“

“Look, Keith, you can cut the crap with me, alright?” Keith looks at them, eyebrows raised. Pidge is gazing up at them steadily, lips pursed into a small frown. “I know you don’t really like dancing in front of others when you’re not prepared, okay? Lance may buy your mysterious edge lord shtick, but I don’t. I’ve known you too long for that.”

Keith’s face scrunches up, and he looks away. “So you know I’m not going to dance.”

“Come ooon, Keith.” Pidge says, bumping his hip with their own. This sounds remarkably similar, but unlike with Lance, Pidge doesn’t fill him with annoyance when they do it. “We came out here to dance. You gotta do it at _least_ once. Lance will never leave you alone if you don’t.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. “I can handle him.”

“Come on, buddy.” And suddenly Hunk is there, laying a hand on his shoulder. He normally isn’t too big of a fan of contact, but there’s something about Hunk that just makes him relax, and he finds he doesn’t mind.

He looks up at him, a small frown tugging at his lips as he tries to keep his expression blank. “How long have you been standing there?”

Hunk shrugs, letting his hand drop and scratching at his cheek as he smiles sheepishly. “Not long, but Pidge already told me about your, uh, hangups with freestyling.”

Keith shoots a glare at Pidge, and they step back, hands up defensively and grinning. “Whoa, there, before you get angry with me, you should know that Hunk is trustworthy.”

Keith glances back to Hunk, skeptical. But he only laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make fun of your or anything. I won’t even tell Lance, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why would I care if Lance knows?” It comes out a little more defensively than he planned. He can’t think of any reason why it would be a big deal, but he knows in his gut that he doesn’t want Lance to know.

“Because Lance would _definitely_ make fun of you and push you out of your comfort zone.” Pidge says matter of factly.

Oh, right. That’s why.

“But you should totally do _something_.” Hunk says, nodding toward the dance circle. “Have some fun. It’s the whole reason we’re out here. You know, kick back, dance in a different environment, have fun with friends.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, shaking his head. “This isn’t really… my thing.” He waves a hand around vaguely, gesturing to where Lance is dancing.

“Then let’s _make_ it your thing.” Pidge says, suddenly gone from his side.

He turns to watch Pidge walk over to where their phone is hooked up to the speaker. “Pidge,” He says, voice pitched low with caution. “What are you doing?”

Pidge looks up at him, grin on their face. “Do you remember that dance to _Happy_ by C2C that you choreographed for us a couple years ago?”

Keith wracks his brain for it. He nods slowly. “Yes.”

Pidge tilts their head to the side, eyes wide with mischief. “And do you remember it?”

“No?”

“Keith.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Good! Because I do, too. Let’s go, edge lord. Let’s show these scrubs what we can do.” And then they tap their phone and the song changes. The difference is instantly apparently. They had gone from an upbeat remix to something softer, quick, and with words.

There’s a startled sound from Lance, and when he looks up, Lance is glaring at them indignantly, lips pursed into frown. He puts his hands on his hips, cocking them to the side. “Pidge! What the hell—“

“Step aside, bean pole.” They say, grabbing Keith’s wrist and dragging him into the circle.

His eyes settled on Keith, anger morphing into something surprised. He holds up his hands, stepping back to give them space. The cocky grin that Keith hates is firmly in place. “Alright, alright, but only because I gotta see this.” And the way he says it doesn’t exactly sound like a compliment. Keith glares at him, but his grin only widens. “Show me what you’re made of, Keithy boy.”

And Keith opens his mouth to say something, but Pidge is tugging at his arm, forcing him to turn around to face them. Their legs are already moving, taking tiny barely there steps with each of the fast beats. They point two fingers at their own eyes before spinning their hand around to point at Keith.

“Focus Keith,” They say, face set in determination. A small smirk tugs at their lips. “We got this.”

Keith breathes in deep, and lets it out in a long exhale. His feet are moving now, too, mirroring Pidge’s quick, small steps. He feels his face relax, and his lips set into a small smile. “Yeah, we got this.”

Pidge’s smirk widens a fraction, and they lift their hands for a double high five. Keith gives it to them, and then they’re both laughing, shaking out their arms and upper body in anticipation as they shuffle backwards with those small, quick steps. They set up next to each other, facing forward.

To be honest, Keith isn’t entirely sure he’ll remember the dance, but as the music plays, he can feel it coming back to him. Adrenaline floods his system in anticipation, and right as the hard downbeat happens, his body tenses and moves to just the right position: one step forward, shoulders up and back as his arms shoot out. Then they’re moving with beat beat, quick precise movements that are jagged and sharp, emphasizing the tempo. His legs get into it, moving to the unique twang of the song.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pidge moving, too, perfectly in sync with him. He had choreographed this a few years ago, when he was really getting into experimenting with choreography. Shiro brought up that organizing a dance for two was different than a dance for one, and he gave him the challenge of making a dance that would combine the overlapping strengths of his and Pidge’s styles. He thinks he did pretty good. Pidge had thought so, too, and put all their effort into committing it to memory. He had thought they would have forgotten it, but he should know better than to doubt the abilities of Pidge’s mind.

The dance is quick with a collection of fast, sharp movements and gestures, precise steps. But it’s fun. There’s a flair of playfulness to it that only comes out because he made this made for him and Pidge. They spent weeks learning it perfectly, and their synergy brings out a bubbling of joy that Keith hasn’t felt while dancing in a long time.

Dancing with Lance is fun, when the guy gets the moves right. When he wants to, Lance can keep up with him, locking into the right poses at the right time and synchronizing with Keith to a T.

But it’s different with Pidge. He trusts Pidge. He’s known Pidge. Pidge knows him. He knows he can trust Pidge to lock their body into each gesture, no matter how quickly it comes and goes. The dance is a perfect mix of their combined styles, but the synergy that brings it alive isn’t something that comes from just knowing the moves. It comes from two friends doing something they love together.

When the music picks up, they’re flying. Practically bouncing from foot to foot in quick movements that are perfectly aligned. They clap and kick and rotate. They bounce from toes to heels, quick steps and rolling hips.

The audience is screaming. They’re loud and cheering, but their noise just blends into the music. Keith is grinning. He feels the ache in his cheeks. The shares glances with Pidge, and they’re smiling just as bright, arms up as their feet move. There’s a lull in the dance and they laugh, setting up for the next bit with tiny moves like fake playing the piano, feet tapping, building up.

Their movements get sloppier from then on out. Their perfect synchronization falls apart as they laugh and really start to get into it. The audience seems to fade away. And yet despite not being completely together, it doesn’t seem to matter. They still go through the same vague motions, and their smiles bring a realness to it.

For once, Keith doesn’t care when their choreography falls apart, ripping and faltering before syncing back up again when they both remember the next part. He’s just… having fun.

As the last tinks of the piano sound, they go through large, exaggerated steps and gestures, falling back and down into kneeling poses, arms crossed over their propped up knees. And with the last beat, their heads drop.

The audience is cheering, and Keith lifts his head, recalling looking around for the first time. He climbs to his feet, spinning a little to take in the audience. His face feels warm. He’s not used to performing in front of a crowd. All eyes are on him, but he doesn’t recognize any of them.

And then he locks eyes with a gaze he does know.

Lance’s grin is _blinding_ in the afternoon sun. His eyes are crinkled with it, and Keith just knows that smile _has_ to hurt. There’s no way it can’t. And the force of that gaze is focused solely on Keith. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, slapping Hunk’s arm incessantly. His lips are moving, saying something Keith can’t hear. Hunk doesn’t seem to care. He has Pidge’s phone in his hand and he’s staring at it intently. Then he looks up and follows Lance’s gaze to Keith, face breaking out into a wide grin as he gives Keith a thumbs up.

God, what was it with this group and having brilliant, warm smiles? They were just so… _friendly_.

Before he can think too much of it, Pidge is suddenly slamming into him. They leap at him, climbing onto his back as he stumbles for balance.

“Keith! That was _awesome_!” They shout in his ear, settling on his back and locking their legs around his waist. One arm clutches around his shoulders while the other shoots a fist into the air. “We should do that more often! That was _amazing_!”

Keith chuckles, loudly and freely, giving a little hop to adjust Pidge’s weight as his arms locked around their legs to keep them up. “Yeah, that was great.” He says earnestly.

“I forgot how much fun your choreography can be.” They say, viciously ruffling his hair.

“Hey! Let up on the hair!” He ducks his head away from them as best he can, and they laugh. He tosses his head, trying to get his hair out of his face.

“Stand back, mullet!” And suddenly Lance is there, hip checking him toward the sidelines. “And take your shoulder gremlin with you! Time for the big boys to show you how it’s done.” As Keith turns to walk away backwards, Lance does the same, headed for the center of the circle. He shoots them finger guns and winks, and Keith rolls his eyes. From over his shoulder, he hears Pidge laugh.

“Someone got jealous of our bro dance.” Pidge sings mockingly, wrapping their arms loosely around his shoulders and resting their chin atop his head.

“Hunk’s the only bro I need! You’re just jealous of our bro _mance_.” Lance shoots back, tightening the arms of the shirt that’s tied around his waist and checking to make sure his snapback is on securely. He should look like a douche, but he doesn’t.

Hunk puts a hand to his chest, the other still holding the phone. “Aww, bro!”

“Love you, bro!” Lance winks, making a heart with his hands.

Hunk’s hand goes to his forehead and he leans back as far as he can go without falling over. “Bro! Love you, too, bro!”

Pidge makes gagging noises. “At least Keith and I aren’t gross.”

Lance puts his hands on his hips, smirking. “I don’t know, have you two looked in a mirror lately?”

“Ooh! Good one, Lance!” Hunk laughs.

“I would, but your face cracked them all.” Keith deadpans, and Pidge laughs.

They hold a fist over his shoulder and he lifts a hand from their leg to bump it.

“Whatever! Roll the track, Hunk!” Lance says, pointing dramatically at him.

Hunk does just that, and _Uptown Funk_ starts to play.

Keith groans softly. “Not this one again.”

“Again?” Pidge asks over his shoulder.

“Shiro made me and Lance do the dance to this we learned last year in that dance class we had together.”

Pidge snorts. “I know _exactly_ what they’re doing. Lance didn’t like the dance you guys learned for that. He said it wasn’t _hype_ enough, or something. Too easy. So he and Hunk _tried_ to choreograph a new dance for it. Key word here being _tried_.”

Keith exhales a short, sharp laugh. He can see Lance doing that. “It didn’t go well?”

“I didn’t say that. But they’re not exactly the… choreograph type. Especially with Lance. Dude’s the walking embodiment of ‘winging it’.”

Lance is skipping around the edge of the circle, clapping his hands with the music and encouraging the audience to do the same. They do, because Lance is oddly charismatic when he wants to be and crowds are suckers for a clapping beat. Even if they’re terrible at keeping time.

The lyrics start and Lance practically _jumps_ into the center, body flailing in dance-like movements that Keith thinks are supposed to go with the beat. Then Hunk is there, running past him and Pidge to jump in front of Lance to do his own quick set of moves. Lance even takes a step back to let him. After a moment, Lance surges forward, putting a hand on Hunk’s shoulder to pull him back, making room for himself. Hunk does the same, like they’re fighting for the spotlight, which honestly doesn’t seem like Hunk at all.

Then they turn to face each other, arms out like they’re going to fight. They freeze, look to the audience, and then they’re doing body rolls at the same time, grinning wildly.

And that’s when Keith realizes it’s a planned back and forth.

They continue a lot like that. They take turns going through their own dance moves before the other steps forward to be the center of attention. Occasionally they exchange fake hits that miss by miles, but to which the other will fake stumble or whip their head around like it had landed. All the while neither of them stops moving to the beat.

Unlike Pidge and Keith, their movements are rolling and energetic, the flinging of limbs and bodies in a style that just seems so natural and uncoordinated. It’s not precise. It’s wild and loose. But Keith is impressed with how well they manage to keep their movements in time anyway. Neither of them ever drop a beat. It’s all crazy gestures and cliche moves that fit together so perfectly and naturally, and despite each of them mostly doing their own thing, it clicks together in a form of synergy that leaves Keith baffled and impressed.

Then they’re rolling their hips, taking steps to rotate in a circle, throwing their hands up with the _”woo’s”_ , and the crowd is screaming and laughing. Pidge is cheering in his ear, and even he’s smiling. The song builds to the chorus and they’re flailing and gesturing in a way that looks partially planned but mostly improvised, but their gestures are so similar that it doesn’t even matter.

They actually have a choreographed dance for the chorus, and Keith is actually surprised. The two of them manage to retain their loose and wild style but do so in complete sync.

As the song goes on, it starts to fall apart. They go back to dancing in a way that’s so similar, but so unique. They’re both laughing and grinning, high fiving and play fighting. It’s clear that they’re feeding off each other’s energy in a way reminds Keith of him and Pidge. But it’s different because _they’re_ different. Different people and so a different dynamic, but the feeling is the same. The way they dance together reminds Keith of their banter, playful and comfortable, both with wild energy and just general good vibes.

By the end of the song, the whole circle has devolved. Somehow the combined energies of Lance and Hunk, coupled with their combined relaxed style of dance, has managed to pull people into the circle until it’s just a mob of moving bodies. Even Keith is bobbing up and down, stepping in side strides and purposefully bouncing Pidge on his back. Pidge laughs in his ear, clinging to him with their legs as they lean back to dance with their arms and hands. He turns in a circle, stepping with the beat and moving as much as he can with Pidge on his back. It’s easier when no one is paying attention to him, when it’s just movement of his legs in a half assed dance.

As he turns, he catches Lance’s eyes through the crowd. His smile widens when he sees Keith, and he gestures them closer. Keith edges through the crowd toward them, and Lance sidles up in front of him. Their eyes lock and they mirror each other as they slide step from side to side. Lance’s eyes are half lidded as he hold’s Keith’s, lips locked in a small smirk that has his stomach doing odd flips. With each step, he sidles a little closer, and Keith blames the warmth on his face on the sun.

Then Pidge is whispering in his ear, and Keith grins. He sees the moment Lance’s movement hesitates, suspicion suddenly clouding his features as he looks at the two of them.

Before he can back away, Keith spins. In the middle of his turn, Pidge launches themselves off his back and onto Lance, who _shrieks_ and stumbles backwards. They go down in a tangle of limbs, Lance continuing to shriek as he tries to push PIdge off, who only laughs and digs their fingers into his sides. Lance’s desperate flailing increases tenfold as his shrieks go up in pitch. Keith laughs so hard that he has to lean on Hunk for support, though he, too, is bent at the waist, hands on his knees as a deep bellied laugh bubbles out of him.

Keith can’t remember having this much fun in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References for the dances:**  
>  Keith: [Rather Be](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/152345871301)  
> Keith: [Anaconda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXl8TMbieug)  
> Lance: [My Life](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/152346093881)  
> Keith and Shiro: [Liberian Girl](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/152345756746/iwontdancenetwork-a-tribute-to-the-king-of)  
> Keith and Pidge: [Happy](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/151099809201)  
> Lance and Hunk: [Uptown Funk](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/151099837206)  
> (Their audition song will be posted with the next chapter)
> 
> The milkshake part was completely self indulgent. I was recently in NC for the first time in like two years (I lived there for 12 years), and I was feeling really nostalgic for Cookout milkshakes, but it makes for cute friend times so whatevessss
> 
> Also fun fact: all the typos the group makes fun of in the group chat are actual typos that Sora pointed out to me, so we decided to deal with them in the same way our friends would
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/153101720184/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-5-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	6. Glad You Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Relax.” Keith says under his breath.
> 
> “I _am_ relaxed,” Lance hisses back.
> 
> “I can feel how stiff you are, idiot.” He’s silent for a beat, so Keith continues, voice kinder. “You’ve got this, Lance. Just relax.”
> 
> “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now onto Part Two of the "Bonding Montage™"!
> 
> As usual, the videos for the dances that inspired us are in the end notes. Enjoy!

**[ WEDNESDAY ]**

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Roasted Lance”**

 **uptown hunk** : can you guys please stop yelling?  
**uptown hunk** : it was funny the first couple times but it’s getting old real fast  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : seriously we can barely hear our own music  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : if you don’t stop I’m cutting off your music altogether  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Ah yes, speaking of that, Pidge, Hunk, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about tampering with studio wiring and equipment  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I plead the fifth  
**uptown hunk** : -innocent whistling-  
**Need-A-Hand** : To Hunk and Pidge’s original point, I agree  
**LLunarGoddess** : we can hear you two all the way on the second floor  
**Need-A-Hand** : Don’t make us come up there  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oooo dad on a mission  
**uptown hunk** : does that make allura mom?  
**vive la lance** : pidge!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what’d I do?  
**vive la lance** : can you PLEASE tell KEITH that he can TRUST ME to flip him?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you most definitely cannot trust lance to flip you  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE!  
**last resort** : thank you pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : anytime man  
**vive la lance** : pidge I can’t believe you  
**vive la lance** : beTRAYAL  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I call em like I see em  
**vive la lance** : rUDE  
**vive la lance** : I am totally trust worthy  
**uptown hunk** : they have a point dude  
**vive la lance** : hunk! D:  
**uptown hunk** : you’ve never really practiced flips before  
**uptown hunk** : auditions are in less than a week  
**uptown hunk** : I can’t, in good conscious, recommend it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : plus you have noodle arms  
**vive la lance** : I do nOT!  
**vive la lance** : I CAN DO HANDSTANDS!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Lance has a point, that takes quite a bit of strength to hold one’s body weight steady  
**uptown hunk** : yeah but it’s different throwing around someone else’s weight  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Also a very good point  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Not to mention the point of Lance’s pasta arms  
**vive la lance** : I DO NOT HAVE NOODLE ARMS  
**Need-A-Hand** : Debatable  
**Need-A-Hand** : How do we define “noodle arms”?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : skinny little sticks with skin  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that kinda flail and wobble around a lot  
**LLunarGoddess** : that sounds an awful lot like Lance  
**vive la lance** : babe I can lift  
**vive la lance** : Ill bench press you any day  
**LLunarGoddess** : is that so?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : HA  
**uptown hunk** : HA  
**Need-A-Hand** : Hahaha  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : That’s an amusing sentiment, Lance  
**vive la lance** : why is no one ever on my side?  
**last resort** : we don’t like siding with the losing side  
**vive la lance** : excUSE??  
**last resort** : she will destroy you  
**vive la lance** : oh yeah? and how would YOU know?  
**Need-A-Hand** : She beat him in a plank off last week  
**last resort** : SHE CHEATED  
**LLunarGoddess** : B) if you can’t take the heat, get out of the gym  
**LLunarGoddess** : I won fair and square  
**last resort** : you cheated and you know it  
**LLunarGoddess** : and how did I cheat, Keith? hmmm? :)  
**Need-A-Hand** : Yes, Keith, why don’t you share with the class  
**last resort** : no  
**last resort** : fuck off  
**vive la lance** : I bet she won cause keith sucks  
**vive la lance** : do you even lift bro?  
**last resort** : yes  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**uptown hunk** : not to distract or anything, but I’d like to bring us back around to the fact that lance should not attempt to flip keith  
**uptown hunk** : like, I’m actually kind of worried that he’s going to try  
**uptown hunk** : and you should definitely not do that lance  
**Need-A-Hand** : I agree, it’s too late to throw something like that into the mix  
**Need-A-Hand** : Maybe next time  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Please do not bleed on the dance room floors, I just had them polished  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : New studio policy: you bleed, you clean it up. No exceptions or excuses  
**vive la lance** : why does no one believe in me??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : must we return to “noodle arms”?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : plus keith is a fatty  
**last resort** : rude  
**Need-A-Hand** : He was the pudgiest little kid  
**last resort** : SHIRO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah I remember those days  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : little baby pudgy keith with bad skin and chubby cheeks and hair a brush couldn’t tame  
**last resort** : fuck off  
**LLunarGoddess** : awww he sounds so cute :)  
**LLunarGoddess** : I want pictures  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Seconded  
**last resort** : no  
**last resort** : lance wants you all to know that he’s doing handstands to prove his strength  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : knock him over  
**uptown hunk** : knock him over  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, don’t knock him over  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Please don’t injure him, he’ll mope for weeks if he misses another round of auditions  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : There’s only so much wallowing my office can take  
**vive la lance** : KEITH KNOCKED ME OVER!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nice  
**uptown hunk** : called it  
**Need-A-Hand** : sigh  
**vive la lance** : ALSO I’M WITH ALLURA  
**vive la lance** : I WANT TO SEE PICTURES OF CHUBBY CHILD KEITH  
**vive la lance** : GIMME THE BLACKMAIL  
**Need-A-Hand** : I most definitely have pictures :)  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO  
**vive la lance** : MY DUDE  
**vive la lance** : HOOK ME UP  
**Need-A-Hand** : Sure thing  
**last resort** : shiro  
**last resort** : think about what you’re doing  
**Need-A-Hand** : I am  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m thinking about how it’s my brotherly duty to embarrass you  
**last resort** : this road goes both ways  
**last resort** : I can get pictures too  
**Need-A-Hand** : …  
**Need-A-Hand** : I see your point  
**vive la lance** : goddammit  
**LLunarGoddess** : Keith  
**LLunarGoddess** : I humbly request teenage Shiro pictures  
**vive la lance** : hell fucking yeah me too  
**vive la lance** : keith told me he had terrible acne and BRACES and a boWL CUT  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh my god  
**LLunarGoddess** : please, Keith, I need to see this  
**LLunarGoddess** : it’s of the upmost importance  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith  
**Need-A-Hand** : Why does Lance know this?  
**last resort** : we were bonding  
**last resort** : we had a moment  
**Need-A-Hand** : by talking about how I looked in high school?  
**vive la lance** : damn right  
**vive la lance** : and now I want pictures  
**LLunarGoddess** : same!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Seconded!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Thirded?  
**uptown hunk** : fourthed!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh man those were the good old days  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I probably have a few pictures around too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can deff find them on matt’s computer  
**Need-A-Hand** : Shouldn’t you all be practicing?  
**uptown hunk** : ummm yes, I’d just like to point out that yes, we should  
**uptown hunk** : auditions are in a couple of days  
**uptown hunk** : and our practice hour is already halfway over  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ugh fiiiiine  
**vive la lance** : NO FUN ZONE >:(  
**last resort** : lance shut up and put your phone away  
**vive la lance** : make me mullet  
**vive la lance** : a;dlfkjadls;kfjawoei  
**uptown hunk** : uuuuhhhhmmmm  
**Need-A-Hand** : Do you think he did it?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : definitely, we heard lance’s screams  
**LLunarGoddess** : Shiro we should get back to practice too :)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah shiro, mom is calling for you  
**Need-A-Hand** : Leaving  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lol  
**uptown hunk** : awww  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Good luck, everyone!

 

* * *

  
**[ THURSDAY ]**

The gym is Keith’s only safe haven. It’s where he goes to think. It’s where he goes to be alone. It’s where he goes to get away from everything. When he’s here, he can get in his own head. Take a moment to think about what makes him tick. Work through his problems while his body engages in mindless activity.

It’s refreshing.

It’s rejuvenating.

It’s relaxing.

And other than occasionally when Shiro and Allura hang out around him, he’s usually left alone to do his own thing.

He can just… be himself. No worries. No anxieties. He doesn’t have to think about auditions. He doesn’t have to think about how him and Lance still have so much work to do, how they’re still rocky with choreography. He doesn’t have to think about how frustrating it is to work with Lance. He doesn’t have to think about Lance, and his stupid smiles and cocky, flippant attitude.

He doesn’t have to think about Hunk, and how the big guy is so earnest and pure and quite easily the most genuine human being he’s ever met.

He doesn’t have to think about Pidge, and how he hasn’t realized how much he missed having them in his life and how grateful he is to have a second chance at being close again.

He doesn’t have to think about Allura, who’s becoming less like just his brother’s dance partner and not-quite girlfriend and casual acquaintance, and more like her own person and friend in Keith’s life.

He doesn’t have to think about Coran, and how the man he’s always just seen as just a dance instructor and Allura’s brother-friend-thing is slowly becoming more like that weird exotic uncle friend that hangs around because he honestly likes everyone and everyone honestly likes him.

He doesn’t have to think about Shiro, and how seeing his brother interact with his friends is making him see a whole new dimension to his brother that makes them feel closer than ever.

Here at the gym, he doesn’t have to think about how he’s never considered himself to be someone who had or even needed a lot of friends. He’s always been fine with just him and Pidge and Shiro. Hell, he even considered Matt a friend at some point. He’s never needed more than them. And when they started to grow apart, he had accepted it and hadn’t felt the need to fill the void. He was fine like this. He had always been fine without constant companionship.

And yet now he finds himself thrust into a group of friends that he never asked to be part of, but who are, for some reason, determined to keep him around.

And the strangest part? He actually… kind of likes it. He likes them. They’re all quirky and fun and just… good people.

And all because he had made the decision to try out for regionals with Lance. Lance with his too loud laugh. Lance with his infuriating smirks. Lance with his irritatingly persistent competitive nature. Lance with his dramatic flair he puts into everything. Lance and the way he fights back against all of Keith’s instruction, the way he complains and whines whenever Keith corrects him, the way he really does listen and try despite all of his protests. Lance and the way he actually makes a point to include Keith like it’s only natural to do so. Lance and the way he—

But Keith isn’t going to think about Lance right now. Him and the rest of the group have been on his mind way too much lately. He’s still a little floored that they’ve all been so ready and willing to accept him, how he just kind of slipped into their lives seamlessly and they’ve barely had to think about accepting it.

He’s not thinking about any of those things, or about any of those people, because thinking about them never fails to make his chest tight with a chaos of emotions that are new and blinding and he doesn’t think he’s properly equipped to deal.

Just for a couple hours, he’s going to let his mind rest, block out all those emotions wordlessly screaming, ignore all the thoughts that are too loud.

In here, in this gym, the real world can’t touch him as long as he’s within these walls.

That is, until the real world comes crashing through the doors to shatter his peace of mind in the form of Lance Mc-fucking-Clain.

“What’s up, Hulk Hogan!”

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and Keith jumps, slamming his locker shut with a little too much force. He whips his head around, scowling at Lance’s grinning face.

He raises an unamused eyebrow, frown firmly in place. “Hulk Hogan? Really?”

Lance chuckles, shrugging with one shoulder as he steps away, opening a locker a couple down from Keith’s. “I just thought, you know, gym, wrestler, kind of the same thing, right?”

“Does it really count as a mullet if he’s balding?”

“Oh yeah, definitely still counts. Even if it’s an unfortunately coincidence. Though I doubt it. He was around in the time when mullets were all the rage.” He tosses his bag into the locker before balancing on one foot, lifting the other to pull at his shoelaces.

Now that the shock of seeing Lance _here_ of all places has dulled somewhat, Keith takes a moment to actually take him in. He’s got on sneakers, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, but that’s not what draws his attention. He’s wearing shorts, which honestly isn’t too surprising, because it’s a gym, hell even Keith is wearing shorts. But his shorts are skin tight, cut off above his knee, and are black with a couple sweeps of blue. What the actual fuck? Why is he wearing like… _legging_ shorts? They show off the leanness of his thighs and draw attention to his toned calves. _Jesus_ , his legs are _shaved?_

“Something wrong, champ?” Lance says, snapping him out of it his stare fest with Lance’s legs.

Keith rips his eyes up to Lance’s, which aren’t that far, to be fair. He’s bending over to untie his shoes. His scowl is back in full force, and he holds it firmly in an attempt to fight off the warmth he can feel creeping up his neck. “What’re you doing here?”

He pauses, blinks, and then a small smirk starts to curl his lips. “Well, currently I’m untying my shoes—“

“Lance.” Keith says flatly, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose while his other arm wraps around his middle. He closes his eyes briefly. “You know what I mean.”

He snickers. “Sorry, dude, couldn’t resist.”

“Seriously, though.” Keith lets his hand drop, opening his eyes. Lance has gotten one shoe off, tossing it in his locker before peeling off his sock as well. Then he’s onto the other foot. “What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you here, and honestly, you don’t seem like the gym type.”

Lance pauses, looking up to narrow his eyes suspiciously. His lips purse into the tiniest of frowns. “This conversation sounds strangely familiar.” Keith holds his gaze and raises one eyebrow, unable to hide the quirk of his lips at Lance’s comical impression of scrutiny. Lance points at him, narrowing his eyes. “You, sir, need to stop underestimating me.” He says, trying to be serious but unable to hide his smile. Instead, he ducks his head and pulls off his other shoe, throwing it, and his sock, in his locker. When he stands back up, he rests his hands on his hips. “Besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like the fact that you shave your legs.” Keith says, trying to keep his tone conversational as he gestures to Lance’s calves. _Fuck_ , he’s not sure why he said that. He just can’t stop _looking_ and _thinking_ about it because what the _fuck_ , Lance? So might as well draw attention to it so he has a reason to stare, right? Yeah, great thinking, Keith. _Draw attention to the fact that you’re gawking at him like you’ve never seen legs before, great idea._

Lance seems surprised at first, smile fading as he blinks in confusion. Then he looks down, like he’s seeing his legs for the first time. He even wiggles his toes. _Jesus_. Then he’s looking up, head tilted to the side and grinning sheepishly. He lifts a hand to scratch at his cheek. “Yeaaaah, I started doing that when I swam back in high school. We didn’t _need_ to, and I don’t think it like, _does_ anything, but the whole team did it on a dare once before a swim meet, and I kinda liked it, so I kept it going.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that, honestly. So he made a noncommittal grunt and somehow manages to tear his eyes from Lance’s legs and back to his face. “I didn’t know you swam.”

“Like I said, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He says with a wink. Keith purses his lips tighter, holding his face as impassive as he can. When he doesn’t get a response, Lance coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. I mentioned that I missed swimming a while ago, and Allura said this place has a nice pool. So I thought I’d come check it out.”

Ah. So that explains the shorts. Swimsuit. He should have known.

And then Lance is reaching for the hem of his shirt, and Keith spins around on his heel. Nope. He’s having none of that.

“Right.” Keith’s already walking away, uncoiling his headphones and putting one in his ear. “Good luck with that.”

“What’re you going to do?” He hears Lance call out behind him.

He doesn’t turn around. Instead he shrugs, waving an arm vaguely. “The usual stuff.”

“Alright, well, see you later then, I guess.”

“Later.”

Now if this really _were_ the usual stuff, Keith probably would have gone straight to the indoor track. Probably. He usually did. But when he reaches the top of the stairs, he finds himself turning left instead of right. And somehow, without thinking about it, he ends up in the weight room.

And he’s about eighty-five percent sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the weight room has a glass wall that looks down over the pool.

Okay, maybe seventy percent sure it has nothing to do with that.

Sixty?

Forty-Five.

He’s curious, alright? Sue him. He just learned the pain in his ass, his not-really rival, his dance partner, and kind of his new friend swims, and he’s curious about it. Keith can’t swim for the life of him. Plus, if he knows Lance and Allura like he’s pretty sure he does, they’ll end up in some sort of race. And he’s all for seeing Allura kick Lance’s ass.

He honestly should have expected to see Shiro there. He’s hard to miss. A lot of the dudes hanging around the weight room are big, but his brother isn’t just big, he’s… strong. In presence as well as body. There’s just something about him that makes people take notice, and he’s pretty sure it would be that way even if he didn’t have a tuff of white hair and a prothetic arm. He’s standing on the other side of the room, a couple of dumbbells in his hands. He’s lifting them, but it seems halfhearted.

A small smirk tugging at his lips, Keith slips across the weight room, sidling up to his brother’s side. “Enjoying the view?”

Shiro jumps, dropping both weights in his surprise. They both spring back to avoid getting their toes crushed. There’s hiss from the attendant across the room about dropping weights, and Shiro lifts a hand, muttering an apology. A heavy blush spreading quickly across his cheeks. Keith just grins, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Keith,” He says flatly, almost like a warning but also filled with a deep kind of exasperation that can only come from knowing someone for years.

“What’s up, bro?”

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, running?”

“Am I not allowed to come see my dearest older brother?” Shiro just glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest to mirror Keith’s posture. He doesn’t bother picking the weights up again. “What were you looking at?” He asks, putting that innocent edge to his voice. He turns, taking a step toward the window wall. “Ah, yup, that’ll do it.”

Just as he expected: Allura is sitting by the pool side, her hands behind her as she leans back and her legs idly kicking in the water. She’s wearing a one piece swimsuit, white and blue and pink. Her hair is somehow wrangled back into a tight bun that sits close to her head, even as several curl strands fall down to frame her face.

As Keith turns to look at his brother, his grin can only be described as “shit eating”.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I know exactly what you were going to say.” Shiro lifts his chin a fraction, glaring down his nose at Keith. He admits, it’s probably a pretty intimidating pose. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work on Keith. Not when Keith has known him long enough to see how flustered he is underneath it all. “Don’t.”

Keith tilts his head to the side. “What was I going to say exactly?”

“Well…” Shiro’s demeanor cracks. He tilts his head back, away from Keith, eyes darting to the ceiling, the wall, the floor. He waves a hand around vaguely. “You know…”

“I don’t.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head. “I’m too tired for this.”

Keith feels his grin widen, if only a fraction. He has to bite back his laugh. “No, you’re just getting old.”

Shiro opens his eyes, hand still at his face. His cheeks are tinged pink as he glares at Keith. “To deal with you acting like you’re five? Yeah, you’re right.”

With some difficulty, Keith swallows his laughter. He sighs, shaking his head and forcing his grin to fade. “Alright, here’s the deal,” He looks up at Shiro, all seriousness. Shiro raises an eyebrow. “I’ll stop acting like I’m five when teasing you…”

“Thank you.”

“Once you stop acting like you’re twelve about your crushes.” He feels the grin coming back, quirking the corners of his lips.

“Keith!” Shiro snaps, pursing his lips as the color on his face darkens.

“What? Are you trying to tell me you _don’t_ have a crush? Because I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”

Shiro stares him down, looking twelve kinds of mortified and embarrassed. Keith just grins.

Shiro sighs again, shaking his head. “Why are you like this?” He looks away, eyes once again trailing to the glass wall. No doubt looking at Allura. Keith doesn’t bother to look, too busy drinking in the sight of his flustered brother.

“As your little brother,” Something changes in Shiro’s expression. It’s subtle, but enough to make Keith curious. He finds his gaze drifting toward the window, down towards the pool. “I have faithfully devoted my life to—“ His eyes settle on Lance walking toward the pool, and his words wither and die on his tongue.

He’s tall. He’s _always_ been tall. Keith _knows_ he’s tall and lanky. But somehow, right now, he’s reacquainted with this fact. His swimsuit is tight, and without his shirt, Keith can really see all the contours of his body. Since when the fuck did he have such broad shoulders? His arms and legs _definitely_ don’t normally look that defined. And Keith is pretty damn sure his waist has never been that narrow. God fuck, who is this and what has he done with Lance?

As he watches, Lance stretches his arms over his head, back muscles tightening and rolling beneath his tan skin and he feels something inside of him wither a little bit. What. The actual fuck. Is wrong with him. This is _Lance_. Loud mouthed and obnoxious _Lance_. The shit bag who gets under his skin and pisses him off at every available opportunity.

“—to, uh…” Keith tries to get back to his sentence. He’s been quite for long enough for it to be weird. His voice is higher than he was anticipating, and he cuts himself off to clear his throat. He really fucking hopes Shiro doesn’t notice.

But of course, the universe hates him, so he does.

“To what?” Shiro asks curiously, interest piqued. Keith doesn’t look at him, but he can see Shiro staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and then he’s following Keith’s gaze, and… “Oh. _Oh_.” And god _dammit_ , he has that same shit eating voice that Keith had a moment ago. Fuck.

“Don’t.” Keith says flatly.

“Don’t what?” Shiro practically sings. He’s eating this up. Keith _refuses_ to look at him. He can feel the telltale heat creeping up his neck.

“Whatever you’re going to say, just don’t.”

Shiro laughs, putting up his hands. “Alright, alright.” And Keith breathes a small sigh of relief. He certainly wouldn’t have backed down so quickly, but he’s glad Shiro does. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body—

“So, Lance…”

Keith groans, slapping a hand over his face. He shakes his head. “ _Shiro_ , it’s not like that…”

“Like what, dear brother?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Shiro. And it’s _not_ like that.” He says firmly.

He hums. “Is that so?”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Do you want to talk about Allura?”

There was a brief pause and then, “Touche.”

“Truce?”

“For now.”

And then they stand in silence. Blessed, tense, awkward silence, while the two of them refuse to look at each other. Shiro doesn’t move to pick up his weights again, and Keith doesn’t bother going to get any. They watch as Lance launches himself into the pool, curling up to do a cannonball as he hits the water. Allura throws up her arms, shielding her face as water splashes over her. She laughs as Lance comes back up, grinning at her. He swims to where she’s sitting and crosses his arms on the edge of the pool next to her. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, and he doesn’t really care. He’s too busy glaring at the expanse of Lance’s shoulders and back as it dips into the water—

“Hey, guys!”

Keith jumps as a heavy hand comes down on his shoulder. He whips his head around, face contorting into lord knows what as he stares at Hunk in horror. On Hunk’s other side, he sees Shiro in a very similar position.

“Hunk!” Keith manages to get out, though his voice sounds strangled.

“Uh, what’re you doing here?” Shiro asks, recovering shortly after and managing it much better.

Hunk grins at them both, completely oblivious to the fact that the two of them had been watching Lance and Allura by the poolside. It suddenly hit Keith just how _fucking creepy_ that is, and it knocks the air out of his lungs. His ears are burning.

Hunk shrugs. “I came here with Lance. He said he was gonna come by and swim with Allura, and he asked if I wanted to come with. I’ve been meaning to find a new gym anyway. Pidge may not weigh much, but it never hurts to be prepared, you know?”

Keith gives him a weak smile, trying to ignore the warmth on his face. They’re in a gym though. Hunk has no idea how long they’ve been here. They can probably blame it on exertion, right?

“I’d be happy to show you around, Hunk.” Shiro says, and fuck him for sounding so calm. Like he hadn’t just been caught red handed staring like a creep.

Hunk grins at him. “That sounds great, Shiro. What’ve you guys been doing so far? When I got here, you were looking down—“ He takes a step forward, curious eyes going to the window, down to the pool below, and— “Oh, hey! It’s Lance and Allura!” He brightens instantly, seemingly oblivious to Keith and Shiro stiffening beside him. “Do they know we’re up here?”

“Uhh, no, we, uh—“ Shiro stutters for words.

“We just noticed them.” Keith finishes, voice a little pitchy but otherwise calm. He exchanges a tight lipped look with Shiro, a silent agreement passing between them.

“Yeah, I just noticed Allura down there when Keith showed up. Then Lance walked out. Don’t think they’ve noticed us.” Shiro says with complete calm. It’s a hundred percent true, and when he says it, it doesn’t sound creepy at all.

“Huh, well, let’s say hi.” And before he say say anything to stop him, Hunk steps forward, rapping his knuckles heavily on the glass and ignoring all the looks he gets around the weight room as he says loudly. “Lance! Laaaance! Alluraaaa! Hey guys!”

To Keith’s horror, they both look up, faces breaking out into grins as Hunk waves at them. They wave back, and Keith looks away, pursing his lips and really fucking hoping the color on his face isn’t visible from down below. God, he can’t even make eye contact with Lance while he’s like that. Jesus _Christ_ , there’s something wrong with him.

He excuses himself and walks away to the racks of dumbbells, grabbing two of them for himself. When he comes back to the other two, they’re still staring intently down at the pool. Shiro doesn’t seem nearly as red anymore, and he’s even smiling. “What’s going on?” He asks, coming to stand on the other side of Hunk.

Hunk crosses his arms over his chest, easy smile on his face as he glances at him. “Looks like they’re about to have some sort of race. Look.”

Keith does, and sure enough, Lance and Allura are both standing at the edge of the pool in front of two empty lanes that had been roped off from the rest. They’re both stretching as they talk, and Keith knows those smirks. _Both_ of those smirks. Those cocky, self assured smirks. Even if Hunk hadn’t told him, he would have known right away what was happening.

As they watch, the two of them line up by their respective lanes, standing at the edge and bending over into position. Both of them have really good form, and Keith watches Allura because she’s so much easier to stare at.

“Who’d you think will win?” Hunk asks.

Shiro smirks. Keith scoffs. “Allura,” They both say at the same time. Hunk throws back his head and laughs.

He’s not sure who’s counting them down, but he sees Allura tilt her head to say something to Lance, who immediately breaks form to stand up straight, arms flailing as he says something they can’t hear. His face looks mortified. And then Allura is launching herself into the pool, entering the water with graceful perfection. Lance’s wordless shout echoes around the room below before he’s diving in after her.

They race to one end of the long pool and back. Allura hits the turn around point first, but Lance is right behind her. But despite how smoothly he cuts through the water, he can’t close the distance. Allura hits the edge of the pool with a loud _whoop_ and throws a hand in the air, grinning as Lance hits the edge. He looks furious. He says something to her as he pulls himself out of the water and sits himself on the edge.

Lance’s head snaps up to look at them as he gestures violently to Allura, who’s innocently treading water. His voice is muffled through the glass, but it’s loud and echoes around the room enough for them to make out the words: “She _cheated!_ ”

Keith laughs.

 

* * *

 

**[ FRIDAY ]**

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Roasted Lance”**

 **last resort** : whatever lance is about to type into the chat ignore him  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO I HAVE A HUMBLE REQUEST  
**vive la lance** : keith f u  
**vive la lance** : this is between me and shiro  
**uptown hunk** : uuuh hey guys  
**uptown hunk** : whats up?  
**vive la lance** : HUNK  
**vive la lance** : buddy ol pal  
**vive la lance** : tell keith to shut his fucking mouth  
**uptown hunk** : yeah sorry buddy I’m not gonna do that :/  
**last resort** : thank you hunk  
**uptown hunk** : np buddy :)  
**vive la lance** : okay Im gonna gloss over that betrayal in favor of pursuing my mission  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO YOU HERE???  
**LLunarGoddess** : hold on, I’ll tell him to look at his phone  
**last resort** : ALLURA DON’T  
**vive la lance** : allura youre an angel  
**LLunarGoddess** : :)  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m here  
**Need-A-Hand** : What is it, Lance?  
**last resort** : god fuck  
**Need-A-Hand** : Language, Keith  
**last resort** : gosh fuck  
**Need-A-Hand** : >:(  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO I HAVE A REQUEST  
**last resort** : shiro if you have ever loved me you will ignore him  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : if lance’s request is gonna embarrass keith, I say go for it  
**last resort** : pidge you’re gonna want to be on my side for this  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what? why?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh god what’s that idiot gonna do?  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO I WANT TO SEE PICTURES OF KEITH AND PIDGE IN HIGH SCHOOL  
**uptown hunk** : :O  
**LLunarGoddess** : !!!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh fuck no  
**last resort** : that’s why you’re gonna want to be on my side  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO SEND ME PICS OF THE EMO TWINS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : shiro don’t you dare  
**last resort** : shiro I will disown you  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pretty sure you can’t do that, Keith  
**last resort** : watch me  
**vive la lance** : hunk back me up!  
**vive la lance** : you wanna see pics of this train wreck too right??  
**uptown hunk** : I’m…  
**uptown hunk** : going to stay out of this one  
**vive la lance** : hunk! D:  
**vive la lance** : bro  
**uptown hunk** : sorry dude but I live with them  
**uptown hunk** : and I’m not willing to take the consequences of encouraging this  
**uptown hunk** : they know where I sleep  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hunk knows what’s up  
**vive la lance** : boo you whore  
**vive la lance** : allura’s on my side right? coran?  
**LLunarGoddess** : most definitely >:)  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’d love to see pictures of them in high school, I bet it’s adorable  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no offense but fuck you, allura  
**last resort** : I knew you were evil  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : What are friends for if not to relive your pasts with you in a humorous light?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I say bring on the pictures!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I’m sure we could all use a good laugh with the stress of auditions looming over us  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Or you, as the case may be  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I’m delightfully stress free at the moment B{D  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Still I think the pictures would be amusing  
**vive la lance** : thats what Im talkin about!  
**vive la lance** : bring on the pics shiro!  
**vive la lance** : its your brotherly duty!  
**Need-A-Hand** : As much as I would love to agree with you, Lance  
**Need-A-Hand** : And as much as I love any opportunity to embarrass Keith  
**last resort** : i hate you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : shiro think about this  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m going to have to say no  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : thank god  
**vive la lance** : whAT??  
**vive la lance** : shIRO WHY??  
**Need-A-Hand** : It’s been mentioned before that blackmail pictures are a two way street with us  
**Need-A-Hand** : I don’t think the revenge pictures would be worth it  
**vive la lance** : what if I promise not to look at them???  
**LLunarGoddess** : I can’t make that promise  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Nor can I  
**uptown hunk** : same here  
**vive la lance** : guys pls  
**vive la lance** : Im trying to negotiate over here  
**Need-A-Hand** : Sorry, Lance, no deal  
**last resort** : you can stay my brother for now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’ve made a wise decision  
**vive la lance** : man fUCK this buSTED BLACKMAIL SYSTEM

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Roasted Lance”**

 **vive la lance** has renamed the conversation **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Flash Fried Emo Twins”**

 **uptown hunk** : not gonna lie  
**uptown hunk** : that menu sounds gross  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what the fuck is this  
**vive la lance** : I HAVE RETURNED AND I COME BEARING GIFTS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that better not mean what I think it means  
**vive la lance** : strap in kiddies  
**vive la lance** : were about to go on a wild ride B)  
**last resort** : lance  
**last resort** : what the fuck are you doing

 **vive la lance** has sent an image  
**vive la lance** has sent an image  
**vive la lance** has sent an image

 **vive la lance** : B)  
**uptown hunk** : omg  
**LLunarGoddess** : oooomg!!  
**last resort** : oh, my god  
**last resort** : I’m breaking your kneecaps  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GET THOSE  
**LLunarGoddess** : you’re both so CUTE!!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : allura  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I like you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but I will not hesitate to take you down  
**LLunarGoddess** : bring it short stuff B)  
**LLunarGoddess** : you’re adorable  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : OH MY GOD  
**uptown hunk** : pls don’t kill me pidge  
**uptown hunk** : but allura’s right  
**vive la lance** : LOOK AT THOSE TWO ADORABLE EMO ASSHOLES  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE HAS BLACK HAIR  
**vive la lance** : WITH GREEN HIGHLIGHTS  
**vive la lance** : KEITH HAS A DOUCHY RED STREAK  
**vive la lance** : still a mullet tho :/  
**last resort** : fuck off lance  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I will end you, you soggy piece of bread  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : What a delightful display of youth! Reminds me of my days in high school  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Tried to dye my mustache once  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : That did not go well  
**LLunarGoddess** : it did not  
**vive la lance** : Im crying tears of joy rn  
**vive la lance** : I have been blessed  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m going to beat you with a garden gate  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : how the ever living FUCK did you find those pictures?  
**last resort** : shiro I swear to god  
**last resort** : you’re being suspiciously quiet  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m just trying to figure out how Lance could have gotten those from me  
**Need-A-Hand** : I didn’t give them to him, I swear  
**last resort** : I’m texting mom right now to send me your most embarrassing pictures  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, please  
**Need-A-Hand** : It wasn’t me  
**Need-A-Hand** : We had a deal, and I didn’t break it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : shiro you bowl of stale cereal  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I will have my vengeance  
**Need-A-Hand** : It wasn’t me!  
**vive la lance** : as much as I would love to see the retribution pics  
**vive la lance** : I feel like I should say it wasnt shiro  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : THEN HOW THE FUCK????  
**vive la lance** : your brother dude  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : MATT DID THIS???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m gonna kill him  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge, let’s stay reasonable  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m sorry I can’t hear you over the sound of sibling betrayal  
**uptown hunk** : pidge you’re starting to sound like lance  
**vive la lance** : this is the best day of my life  
**last resort** : shut the fuck up lance  
**last resort** : delete those right now  
**vive la lance** : make me mullet boy ;P  
**last resort** : I’m going to break your kneecaps  
**vive la lance** : keith I need my kneecaps if Im gonna dance :(  
**vive la lance** : you wound me  
**last resort** : not yet  
**last resort** : but I will  
**vive la lance** : are you gonna  
**vive la lance** : cut my life into pieces? ;)  
**last resort** : ….  
**last resort** : what  
**vive la lance** : Is this your last resort?  
**last resort** : oh my god  
**vive la lance** : suffocation?  
**vive la lance** : no breathing?  
**last resort** : stop  
**last resort** : I made this username years ago okay?  
**last resort** : I never use this stupid program  
**last resort** : fuck off  
**vive la lance** : ahahahahaha  
**vive la lance** : cant escape your past keith  
**vive la lance** : just to sow more Discourse™  
**vive la lance** : pidge was the one who told me where your username was from  
**last resort** : PIDGE WHAT THE FUCK  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : can’t talk rn keith  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dealing with brother dearest  
**vive la lance** : teenage emo keith is everything I ever hoped for  
**vive la lance** : I am LIVING

 **last resort** has changed his username to **fuck off**

 **vive la lance** : AHAHAHAHA  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith  
**fuck off** : don’t you keith me shiro  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : this is BULLSHIT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t even get my REVENGE on him because matt is stupidly not ashamed of his gawky awkward teenage self  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what the FUCK is up with that  
**Need-A-Hand** : To be honest, he hasn’t changed much over the years  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I mean  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but in principle he should still be ashamed  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m offended  
**vive la lance** : oh! speaking of matt  
**vive la lance** : he also sent me this

 **vive la lance** has sent an image

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : YOU TAKE THAT FILTH BACK YOU UNFATHOMABLY ITCHY SWEATER  
**vive la lance** : not on your life pidge  
**vive la lance** : pay backs a bitch  
**LLunarGoddess** : awwwWWWW!!!  
**LLunarGoddess** : that’s adorable :)  
**uptown hunk** : aww they’re sleeping and CUDDLING  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : HUNK I WILL HIDE ALL YOUR FAVORITE COOKING UTENSILS  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : That is positively adorable!  
**Need-A-Hand** : … It IS pretty cute  
**Need-A-Hand** : That one’s one of my favorites

 **fuck off** has sent an image

 **Need-A-Hand** : Keith! WHY? I didn’t send those pictures to Lance!  
**uptown hunk** : :O !!!!  
**uptown hunk** : this is amazing  
**vive la lance** : AWKWARD TEENAGE SHIRO!!!  
**vive la lance** : THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : What a strapping young lad!  
**LLunarGoddess** : this is…  
**LLunarGoddess** : the best thing I’ve ever seen :’)  
**Need-A-Hand** : Allura, please, don’t  
**LLunarGoddess** : don’t what? ;)  
**Need-A-Hand** : Uuuuugh, Keith, why?  
**fuck off** : if I have to suffer so do you  
**vive la lance** : this is The Best™  
**vive la lance** : have I died and gone to heaven??  
**uptown hunk** : I feel like… I need to level the playing ground  
**vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : hunk what are you talking about?  
**uptown hunk** : sorry buddy but if I don’t pacify pidge I fear what they might do  
**vive la lance** : huuuuuunk  
**uptown hunk** : :/  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : do it, hunk  
**fuck off** : do it  
**LLunarGoddess** : please  
**Need-A-Hand** : Do it  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : You’re outvoted, Lance  
**vive la lance** : NO!

 **uptown hunk** has sent an image

 **vive la lance** : NOBODY LOOK  
**vive la lance** : AVERT YOUR EYES  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sweet sweet justice  
**fuck off** : … wow  
**vive la lance** : SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH EMO BOY  
**fuck off** : I suddenly feel better about myself  
**vive la lance** : FUCK OOOOOFF  
**Need-A-Hand** : And you made fun of ME for braces and acne  
**vive la lance** : IT WAS BEFORE I HAD MY PERSONAL HYGENE ROUTINE OKAY???  
**LLunarGoddess** : Lance, you’re adorable  
**vive la lance** : shut the fuck off allura  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : shut off  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Shut off!  
**uptown hunk** : shut off :o  
**fuck off** : go ahead and shut off allura  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’d rather she didn’t  
**fuck off** : I’m sure  
**Need-A-Hand** : …  
**Need-A-Hand** : Shut off, Keith  
**vive la lance** : hunk buddy you brought this on yourself  
**uptown hunk** : yeah I figured :/  
**uptown hunk** : I don’t blame you

 **vive la lance** has sent an image

 **uptown hunk** : sigh  
**uptown hunk** : you had to pick that one?  
**vive la lance** : sorry not sorry buddy  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay but teenage hunk is like ACTUALLY adorable  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : like a straight up prepubescent angel?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t even make fun of him  
**fuck off** : yeah I’m with pidge  
**fuck off** : let’s go back to making fun of lance  
**vive la lance** : HEY!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I can offer a diversion for you, Lance

 **I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** has sent an image

 **LLunarGoddess** : CORAN!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Behold! Young Allura! Isn’t she precious?  
**uptown hunk** : awww!!!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hA!  
**vive la lance** : coran you are my hero  
**Need-A-Hand** : Oh my god  
**Need-A-Hand** : That’s  
**Need-A-Hand** : So cute  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’m leaving this chat  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what’s the matter princess? can dish it out but can’t deal with it?  
**LLunarGoddess** : a parting gift

 **LLunarGoddess** has sent an image

 **vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : coran were you just BORN with that mustache???  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I’ve been gifted B)  
**uptown hunk** : that’s honestly impressive  
**uptown hunk** : you were a strapping young dude, coran  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Why, thank you, Hunk ^_^  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that’s… some scary shit  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that mustache is immortal  
**Need-A-Hand** : Coran looks almost the same as he does now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know it’s not fair  
**LLunarGoddess** : how about this one

 **LLunarGoddess** has sent an image

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : AAAAH!!!!!  
**uptown hunk** : WHOAAA NO NONONO  
**fuck off** : holy fuck  
**Need-A-Hand** : Wooow  
**vive la lance** : PUT THE MUSTACHE BACK ON PUT IT ON WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : D:< !!!  
**LLunarGoddess** : B)  
**fuck off** : why is this group like this?  
**vive la lance** : because friends make friends share the suffering  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : fact  
**uptown hunk** : truth  
**vive la lance** : B) deal with it preteen mullet  
**fuck off** : I hate you all  
**vive la lance** : aw keith likes us ;)  
**Need-A-Hand** : aww <3  
**uptown hunk** : awww :’)  
**LLunarGoddess** : awwww :P  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : awwwww 8D  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : awwwwww ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
**fuck off** : fuck  
**fuck off** : OFF

 

* * *

 

**[ SATURDAY ]**

“Keeeeith, I’m exhausted!” Lance whines, throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulders and leaning his whole body into it. Lance hates that he doesn’t even budge. He just shifts his feet a little to rebalance himself.

“Lance, get off of me.” He says mildly. His voice is calm, but there’s faint color on his cheeks. Then again, that could just be from the fact that they’ve run through their dance routine _like a hundred times in the past hour. Ugh_.

“Nooooo, I’m exhausted. You tired me out. Jesus, Keith, haven’t you ever heard that too much practice can be a bad thing?”

“No.”

“Well it _can_!” Lance huffs, draping both arms over his shoulders. Keith ignores him in favor of scrolling through his phone. Lance can see that he’s checking the group message. “If you practice _too_ much, you can _over_ practice and then when the time comes, if you fuck up _once_ you get lost and you stumble and it’s harder to recover! That’s why you’re not supposed to actually like, _write_ a speech. You just write notecards and wing it.”

Keith snorts. “I’m not really a fan of winging it.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Lance rolls his eyes, sagging heavier on Keith’s shoulders.

Keith tries to shrug him off, but Lance isn’t moving. “Lance, get off of me.”

“No! I’m tired! I’m sore! My legs are like jelly! Have some sympathy, Keith!”

“Stop being dramatic.”

“Can’t help it, dude. It’s in my blood.” Keith snorts, and tries to disengage himself from Lance once again, but Lance isn’t having any of it. He wraps his arms around Keith’s neck and wraps a leg around him.

Keith grunts, trying to push off his leg, but he’s persistent. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Keith, carry meeeee.”

“And why in the ever living hell would I do that?”

“Because you’ve worked me to the _bone_ , Keith! You don’t want me to trip on my tired legs and fall down the stairs, do you? Break a leg is just an expression!”

“Use the elevator.”

“You’re so _cruel_. You piggybacked Pidge!”

“Pidge is significantly smaller than you.”

Lance scoffs. “What? I thought you lifted, bro? You saying I’m too heavy for you? I mean, I understand if you _can’t_ —“

“Oh, my god, Lance, just shut up.” He sounds exasperated, but not mad. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, shaking his head. It’s a gesture that Lance has come to realize is him gracefully accepting defeat. “Alright, but you’re carrying my bag.”

Lance lets out a happy squeal that he’s not in the least bit embarrassed by, and scrambles away from Keith, grabbing his bag and Keith’s. He throws one over each shoulder and hurries back to Keith, who’s standing with his hip cocked to the side, arms crossed over his chest, and watching Lance with a raised eyebrow. Try as he might, if he’s even trying, he can’t hide the amusement playing across his features. Lance grins at him broadly, gesturing with impatient hands for him to turn around.

Keith roll his eyes and does as he’s bid, shifting his legs apart to balance his weight as he bends down a little, holding his arms out to the side. Lance wastes no time jumping on Keith’s back, wrapping his long limbs around him. Keith grunts, straightening as his hands hesitantly wrap around Lance’s knees. He hops a little, adjusting Lance’s weight.

“Jesus, why are you so heavy?”

“It’s all muscle, dude. Check out these guns.” He legs go of Keith with one arm in order to flex, but Keith spins sharply, throwing off his balance. He lets out a small yelp that he’s a _little_ ashamed off, and clings to Keith once again. “Um, rude. And to think I gave you front row seats to the gun show.”

Keith chuckles. “If I wanted to see Nerf guns, I’d go to Walmart.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Lance says dryly. Then he straightens and points to the door, saying much more enthusiastically. “Hi-ho, Mullet! Away!”

Keith doesn’t even try to hide his soft chortle of a laugh. It’s insanely adorable. Which _isn’t_ a weird thing to think, because plenty of Lance’s friends have adorable laughs. Take Hunk for example! His laughter is the best! And when Pidge really gets going, they get all shorty and high pitched and it’s hilariously cute.

“Really? That’s the best you could do?”

Lance scoffs in mock offense as Keith carries him through the door, and Lance reaches out as they pass to flick off the lights. “Well, I can’t really call you _Silver_ , now can I? There’s nothing silver about you. Except maybe your pasty ass skin. And I would’ve gone for another horse reference, but Black Beauty was too much of a compliment. I have standards, you know.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Excuse!”

“Face it, Lance. You need new material. If you keep calling me Mullet, I’m going to start thinking you actually like my hair.”

Lance scoffs and sputters, making a big show just for the hell of it. And possibly because he knows it might get Keith to laugh again. “Puh- _lease_ , Keith. This rat’s nest?” He lifts a hand to ruffle Keith’s hair. He’s… just going to ignore how soft it is, like wow, what conditioner does this boy use? Keith ducks his head to get away, but there is no escaping. Lance laughs. “Your hair is terrible, and you should feel bad.”

“If I cut it, you’ll lose most of your insults. Who knows, you might start calling me by my name.”

Lance hums, considering. “You’re right. Keep it. I don’t want all my famous mullet research to go to waste.”

He can almost _hear_ Keith rolling his eyes. They get to the elevator and Keith nods to the panel. “Hit the button.”

“The elevator? Really?” He says, but hits the down button anyway. They hear the contraption hum to life. They haven’t taken the elevator a single time since they started this whole rivalry fiasco. And even after they became partners instead, they still took the stairs. There’s like an unspoken rule about it.

“I’m not taking the stairs carrying your fat ass.”

“Pfff, sure, be a wimp.”

When the doors dinged open, Keith steps inside and Lance hits the ground floor button. As the doors close, Lance feels a strange sense of… confinement come over him. He’s never been particularly claustrophobic, and he’s never had a problem with elevators. But there’s something infinitely more private about being trapped inside a small metal box than being alone in a long, echoey stairwell. The silence that falls feels suffocating, leaving him with nothing to think about besides the fact that he’s got a mildly attractive guy between his thighs— and okay, he admits, that was a weird way to think of that.

“Hey Keith,” He says to break the silence.

“Yeah?” There’s something unreadable in his voice. Or maybe Lance is just imagining it. He continues on anyway, saying the only thing he can think to say.

Probably because it’s the main thing that’s been bothering him.

“Are you nervous?” He asks, voice coming out a lot softer than he had meant to.

It takes him a moment to answer. “Nervous about what?”

Lance let out a surprised snort. “Keith, don’t be a smartass!” He says, lightly smacking the side of Keith’s head. Then, a little more grumpily, he adds, “You know what I mean…”

“No, I’m not nervous.” He says as the elevator descends. “Are you?’

“Well, yeah.” He doesn’t see any reason to deny it. Especially since Keith can’t see his face right now. “This is like… a big deal for me. I _really_ want to go to regionals. And we’ve had _half_ the time to prepare as everyone else. And we’ve never danced together before. And there’s like, a million and five things that could go wrong. What if someone breaks their arm again? What if _I_ break my arm? What if I get sick? What if I completely blank and forget everything? Oh my god, I’m going to choke, aren’t I? I’m totally going to choke—“

He’s cut off from his increasingly panicked rambling as Keith takes a step back and pushes his back up against the elevator wall. Keith leans back into him heavily, pushing the air out of his lungs. He tilts his head back against Lance’s chest, and he gets a mouth full of mullet. He sputters, turning his head to get the strands unstuck from his lips.

“You’re not going to choke.” Keith says, and fuck him for being so calm about this. Why is Lance the only one panicking?

“But how do you knoooow?” Lance whines.

Keith shrugs beneath his arms. “I just do.”

“Keeeeith.”

Keith sighs. “Look, how many times have we run through it?”

“A lot.”

“And how many times have I corrected you until you got the perfect form?”

“Too many times!”

“And did it help you improve?”

“Maybe…”

“And are you confident with the dance?”

“For the most part…”

“And who’s good at pulling shit off even when he fucks up?”

“…Me?”

“And who has faith that you can pull this off?”

“Uh, Shiro?”

“Literally everyone but you, so would you just chill? We’ll be fine.”

Lance groans, despite the warmth that’s spreading in his chest. “How are you so… _calm_ about this?”

He shrugs again. “We’ve run through the routine enough time that it’s just muscle memory now.”

“Dancing is more than just muscle memory, you know.”

Another shrug. Every time he does it, his shoulders rub against Lance’s chest. He doesn’t like that he notices that. “It’s gotten me this far, and it’s going to be what gets us through auditions.”

Lance scoffs. “Well you sure are cocky.”

“Yeah, and you should be, too.”

The elevator dings as it opens, and Keith leans off the back wall. They stumble forward for a moment before he catches himself, then they’re walking down the hall. It’s nearly empty at this time. The dance classes haven’t started yet, so the only people here are those like them. More of the independent study type. A few people give them curious glances as they pass, but Keith doesn’t pay them any mind. Whenever Lance makes eye contact, he gives them finger guns and a wink. He’s the king of making other people look away first.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… For the pep talk and everything.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When they reach the front lobby, Pidge and Hunk are already there waiting. Coran stands in the open doorway to the office, leaning casually against the door frame while he talks to the two of them. When Keith and Lance come around the corner, conversation stops as they all turn to stare with varying expressions of amusement and surprise.

Keith takes a few more steps toward them and Lance is grinning, lifting a hand into the air. “Hi, guys— _Keith!_ ”

Keith turns sharply, pivoting on his heel as he lets go of Lance’s legs, pulling them off his hips as he turns. Lance hasn’t been holding on tightly, and he’s promptly thrown onto the floor on his ass.

“ _Keith!_ ” Lance repeats, putting everything into his offended tone as he glares up at Keith, rubbing his ass.

Pidge is cackling behind him, and Coran is chuckling. Even _Hunk_ is laughing, and Lance is _so_ betrayed!

“Special delivery.” Keith announces, gesturing to Lance with one hand.

“I’m not signing for that. Can we return it?” Pidge says.

Lance gapes at them. “ _Rude_.”

But Keith is laughing softly under his breath as he bends down to pick up his bag, and Lance can’t bring himself to be _too_ mad at him. Fucking Keith.

“See you guys tomorrow.” He says, giving them all a small salute with two fingers as he turns and walks back toward the hall. Lance has learned over the past few weeks that Keith always parks in the back.

As he watches him go, he remembers something, and scrambles to his feet to hurry after him. “Keith! Wait up!”

Keith stops, already around the corner, and turns to stare at him. “What?”

Lance skips to a stop in front of him, grinning. “You know that red plaid you have?”

“Uh, yeah?” He looks about twelve flavors of confused.

“Wear it tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Wear it tomorrow. With a black shirt and black pants.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Lance just grins. “Just trust me.”

 

* * *

 

**[ SUNDAY ]**

Keith makes it to the studio nearly an hour before auditions.

Despite what he had said to Lance, he’s feeling a little nervous. It’s not often he performs in front of a crowd, or anyone for that matter, so he’s just… he’s not used to the anticipation of it all. That’s honestly the worst part. Having to just… wait. Waiting, and waiting, and all the adrenaline of it just souring in his veins. He knows once they get up there, he’ll be fine. Once they’re dancing, he’ll be fine. Once it’s over, he’ll be fine. But it’s everything that leads up to doing it that’s got him on edge.

He had been pacing around his apartment, unable to start anything and unable to just… _calm down_ , so he had decided fuck it, he’d go to the studio early.

He gets a key from Coran and holes himself up in an empty room, running through the routine a couple more times. His muscle memory is impeccable. As always. Sure, they changed it a bit when they adapted it for two people. And yeah, they added a bunch of things. But this dance was his first. He’d had much more time to prepare. And besides, this is his element. Memorizing choreography like this… it’s what he’s good at.

Lance, on the other hand…

It’s not that Lance is _bad_ , it’s just not his thing. Keith knew that going into this. Even when he was trying, even when he was listening to Keith’s instructions and mirroring his moves, Keith could feel him struggling to contain the urge to act out. To dance his own way. Keith could practically _feel_ him fighting against the choreography, despite his determination to learn it. It just… wasn’t in his nature. Keith could see that he wanted to learn, but his attention was just constantly drifting, and Keith had to constantly reign it back in.

So Keith had drilled him hard. He had corrected him mercilessly. He had made Lance go through it step for step, making him pause to Keith could adjust his arm here, push his leg out a little there, curve his torso every so slightly. He made sure each and every one of Lance’s poses were perfect, that they hit the correct beats at just the right times.

Lance complained. Holy _shit_ did he complain. He whined and he pouted, but he did everything Keith asked. He never gave up and he let Keith go about nitpicking everything.

Keith isn’t even sure Lance realizes just how much it helped him improve. He’s a good dancer. That much is obvious. And all the attention to detail, making Lance go through it over and over and over until they were perfectly in sync… it had actually helped. It had drilled it into Lance’s muscle memory without the idiot even knowing. Lance _knows_ the moves. He fucking _knows_ this dance like the back of his hand. Keith knows he does. Keith, honestly, has complete faith in him.

The real question is: is Lance going to get so far into his own head that he doesn’t trust his body to just do what Keith taught it to do?

Keith doesn’t know the answer to that question, but there’s nothing he can do about it at this point. He’d tried his best to give a pep talk yesterday, and that had been awkward as hell. He’s not used to… being _that_ guy. That’s usually Shiro’s deal. Still, Lance is his partner in this. It’s the least he can do to try and get him to calm the fuck down and trust himself.

All Keith can do now is focus on himself and make sure that _he_ does what he’s supposed to do, and just… pray to anything that’ll listen that Lance can pull this off.

He’s gone through the routine several times with long breaks between to just scroll through his phone to distract himself, when he gets a message. Then two. Then three. He just watches as his phone blows up.

 **vive la lance** : dude! where are you??  
**vive la lance** : were here  
**vive la lance** : me hunk and pidge  
**vive la lance** : I wanted to get here like an hour or two or three ago but SOME PEOPLE thought that was excessive??  
**vive la lance** : rude much  
**vive la lance** : I stayed the night with them last night so they could make sure I got here on time  
**vive la lance** : not that I slept much  
**vive la lance** : even tho hunk made me sleepy time tea  
**vive la lance** : it just made me pee a lot  
**vive la lance** : I think my bloodstream is like 50% coffee rn??  
**vive la lance** : is that a bad thing??  
**vive la lance** : too late now  
**vive la lance** : anyway where are you dude??  
**vive la lance** : dont tell me you forgot  
**vive la lance** : or youre late  
**vive la lance** : or youre skipping out on me  
**vive la lance** : or that you got into an accident and youre in the hospital  
**vive la lance** : ill kick your ass keith kogane i swear i will  
**vive la lance** : keith  
**vive la lance** : keith  
**vive la lance** : keith  
**fuck off** : jfc lance STOP  
**vive la lance** : there you are!  
**vive la lance** : well sort of  
**vive la lance** : where are you really?  
**vive la lance** : like physically rn  
**vive la lance** : and the answer better be “almost there”  
**fuck off** : I’m here  
**fuck off** : at the studio  
**vive la lance** : wait really?  
**fuck off** : I’ve been here for an hour  
**fuck off** : Im upstairs, Ill head down now  
**vive la lance** : you got here early?  
**fuck off** : yeah  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**vive la lance** : nice  
**fuck off** : this is a big thing for me too lance Im going to fuck it up for you  
**vive la lance** : I know I know  
**vive la lance** : Im just nervous  
**fuck off** : I know  
**fuck off** : but youll do fine  
**vive la lance** : damn right I will  
**vive la lance** : just make sure to carry your own weight hotshot  
**vive la lance** : btw you remembered to wear your red plaid right?  
**fuck off** : yeah?  
**vive la lance** : good ;)

Keith shoves his phone back into his pocket as he reaches the bottom of the steps and steps out into the main hall. Auditions are set to take place in room 1A, one of the biggest rooms on the ground floor. A quick check of the time tells him that it’s ten minutes until the hour, when it’s scheduled to start. Everyone is filtering into the room, except for Lance, who’s leaning against the wall outside the room, one leg propped up on the wall behind him and hands shoved in his pockets.

He looks up as Keith approaches, a bright grin spreading his lips.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Keith says, frowning as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Lance doesn’t need an explanation to know what Keith’s talking about. He pushes off the wall and holds his arms out to the side. “What’d you think?” He crosses his ankles and executes a smooth spin.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re an idiot.”

“Aww, don’t be that way, Keith. We look good!”

“You know this is _just_ auditions, right? They’re not judging us on appearances. Just how we dance.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but they’ll appreciate the extra effort we’re putting into this. They’ll never know that we only had two weeks to prepare.”

“I don’t think they’ll be fooled by matching outfits.” Keith deadpans. “All the judges saw us signed up for solo auditions.”

Lance just shrugs, putting his hands on his hips. His grins morphs into more of a smirk. “Come on, it’s all about showmanship. Appearances might not _officially_ count, but we’re definitely going to stick out.”

“I hope it’s in a good way.”

Lance scoffs and steps closer to sling an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Have some faith in me, Keith, buddy, ol’ pal. We’ve got this awesome duality thing going in our dance, you know? And now that’s enforced by our awesome casual fire and ice getup.” He says, waggling his eyebrows and tugging on the edges of his open plaid.

His plaid matches Keith’s almost perfectly, except for the fact that it’s blue instead of red. Both of them are wearing it open with black shirts underneath, and the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Like Keith, Lance is wearing black jeans. The way the blue and black compliment Lance’s skin tone, showing off the definition of his forearms… god fuck, where did he get off? It just wasn’t fair that he could dress like a hobo half the time, a douchebag the other half, and still manage to look good like this. What an asshole.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fire and ice, huh?”

“Yeah, pretty cool, right?” Lance is grinning, and Keith glances at him sideways. He refuses to turn his head all the way. They’re too close as it is. He gives Lance a flat stare, but feels a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re fire cause you’re Mr. Hotshot. And I’m ice, obviously, cause I’m just that cool.” He lifts his chin, tugging at his collar.

Keith snorts.

The room is crowded. Much more crowded than solo auditions had been. But he supposes that’s to be expected when everyone is auditioning in pairs. Still, his anxiety over being in such a crowded space, surrounded by all the sound and voices, it’s not so bad. Not when Lance’s arm is still over his shoulder as he guides Keith across the room to where Pidge and Hunk are sitting up against the wall with Shiro and Allura.

Hunk and Lance fist bump. Shiro puts an encouraging hand on Keith’s shoulder. Pidge flashes them a thumbs up. Allura gives them a brilliant smile and a wave. Keith and Lance settle down next to the four of them, and it’s… comforting to be around them. It helps ease his nerves, still frazzled with anticipation. It’s easy to ignore the steadily filling room when he’s pressed so close to the familiar bubble of his close friends.

When the clock hits the hour, Coran is suddenly there at the front of the room, and not a second late. He welcomes everyone and starts his prepared speech, much like he had for solo auditions. When he’s done, he bows in an overly formal way that reminds Keith of something Lance would do, and strides off to the side to the judge’s table.

They go by the list order of sign ups. Which, unfortunately, means that Keith and Lance are last. When this is announced, Keith sighs. He hates going last. He’d prefer to go first and get it over with than sit and stew in anticipation.

At the sound of his sigh, and what he can only assume is a sour look on his face, Lance leans over and whispers. “Hey, don’t worry about it, we got this.”

Keith scowls, hunching his shoulders slightly as he slides down the wall. “I’m not worried.” He mumbles. “I just don’t like going last.”

Lance snorts softly, nudging his shoulder with his own. “What’re you talking about? Last is the best time to go. The first thing they remember is the last thing they see, you know? We’re going to be so memorable that they _have_ to give us one of the spots.”

Keith glances up at him, feeling his expression soften when faced with Lance’s confident smirk. “Well you sure are cocky.”

He snickers, tilting his chin down as he raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it you who told me I should be?”

Keith just smiles.

The list of contestants is longer than Keith anticipated. Or maybe time just moves a lot slower when he’s watching everyone dance? He’s not really sure. Some of their competition is good, but others could use some obvious improvement. He watches them all with a critical eye, but it’s not judging. He’s just watching the choreography, interest piqued at what others might have come up with. Half the time he’s not even seeing what people are doing, but rather the _potential_ of what they _could_ be doing, if their dances had been tweaked just right.

Beside him, Lance is a nervous wreck. He might have talked big about being the last to go, but Keith can see his nerves are frayed. He’s twitching a lot. Keith can see him out of the corner of his eye, fingers drumming against his arms, foot restlessly bouncing. He watches the others dance with polite attention, but in the breaks, his eyes are shifting everywhere, lips pressed tight. He’s not even talking, which is probably what worries Keith the most.

Keith doesn’t think he’s particularly nervous, but Lance is doing a damn fine job of making him feel it.

The tension is eased somewhat when it’s Hunk and Pidge’s turn. Lance sits up straight, crossing his legs and leaning forward with rapt attention. As the two of them plug in Pidge’s phone and take their starting positions side by side at the front of the room, Lance leans over to Keith, nudging him with his elbow.

“I helped with this one.”

Keith eyes him curiously. “I thought you didn’t like to choreograph dances?”

“I don’t.” Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I see it more like…” He waves a hand around vaguely. “Helping them figure out a good groove? How to get from one set of moves to the next? I help with transitions and stuff.” He looks at Keith out of the corner of his eyes, giving him a sly smile and a wink. “Impressed?”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to roll his eyes, but there’s a good natured smile on his lips. “We’ll see.”

Pidge and Hunk go through a complicated handshake with a lot of fist bumps and flaring fingers before they turn to the crowd, grinning as the music starts.

They start with a tapping their feet to the beat, wrists flicking. And then Hunk moves quick, rotating on his heels and throwing up a hand over Pidge’s head to gesture to them. He stands still as Pidge goes through a series of moves to the beat, moves that are high energy but with that small Pidge flair. Then Pidge is moving, rotating on their feet to gesture to Hunk before freezing. Hunk picks up immediately, doing his own set of very Hunk-like dance moves.

And then suddenly they’re both going through a series of poses, each falling on the heavy downbeat and holding for just a fraction of a second before they’re moving to the next. The first pose is together, but the following ones are different. Yet they still seem to fit together. Each pose, though not the same, seem to fit together in one cohesive picture, a frame that only lasts half a second before changing.

The poses devolve into more separate dancing, but they’re still together. Then they’re slapping hands and gesturing together.

It goes on like that. Their moves are together and then separate, but even when they’re doing their own thing, it fits together so perfectly that Keith can’t question it. They play off each other, high fiving and play punching the other into a new pose. And right when they look like they’re going to devolve into separate dances, they’re suddenly syncing up again for several beats. Separate, but together. Always together.

Keith sees how they play off of their size difference. Instead of spending the whole dance side by side, as a lot of duos do, they’re constantly moving. They’re doing their own thing, playing off the moves and energy of the other. They rotate around, at one point going back to back and taking turns in the spot light before spinning around to show the other. They position themselves to Pidge is more forward, knowing that there’s not much they can do to block the view of Hunk anyway.

The dance style has a lot more energy than Keith knows Pidge likes to do on their own, but he knows Pidge is perfectly capable of pulling it off. There’s a lot of big gestures from Hunk’s style, but there are fine finesses and sharp moves that distinctly come from Pidge. At one point when the music slows, they do as well, moving with the controlled fluidity that Pidge specializes in. He’s actually surprised as how well Hunk pulls it off, but he supposes he’s been dancing with Pidge for long enough, so it would make sense that he’s picked up a few things.

They move stiffly, body bouncing a little with each step like they’re on hydraulics. He can practically hear the steam and grind of metal with their movements. And while each of them move of their own accord, out of sync with the other, it still fits together perfectly. Like two gears, one big and one small, moving independently but together.

They end standing stiffly, one hand each in the air, then slowly bending forward and lowering their hands over their torsos in a bow.

The audience claps and cheers as they have after every performance, but Keith likes to think it’s a little louder than usual. That may, he thinks, have something to do with the fact that Lance is practically screaming beside him.

It’s not long after that it’s Shiro and Allura’s turn.

As their names are called and the two of them stand, everyone lights up with excited whispers. Shiro and Allura are legendary at Altea. They’re easily the best duo here, and no one really tried to fight that. At this point, auditions are just a formality for them. Everyone knows they’re going to get in, but they still enjoy the opportunity to watch them nonetheless.

Keith definitely enjoys getting to see them dance. They have such emotional and physical synergy that comes across with their dancing, and it’s absolutely incredible. Watching the two of them, seeing how dance had helped Shiro get back to being himself after he lost his arm… it had been what pushed Keith into dancing in the first place.

As they plug in Allura’s phone and select the song, pausing it and handing it over to Coran, they take their places at the front of the room. Keith isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, but he swears everyone in the room seems to shuffle back a few feet, widening the dance floor at the front of the room. It’s well known that the two of them use a lot of space.

They stand back to back, and as the music starts, Keith swears the whole room is holding their breath. He knows he is.

The music is slow and emotional. They go through a series of poses, completely independent of each other, but playing off the other in subtle ways. And then they’re together as the lyrics start, taking a long, exaggerated lunge step. Shiro’s hand in there, seemingly guiding Allura. Then they’re stepping apart, bending backwards, turning, straightening. Her hand is in his as she goes a graceful leap to reposition. They come together before falling apart to the floor, quickly lying on their backs, side by side but facing opposite ways.

Allura goes into a bridge and Shiro is under her, rolling over, propping his head under his calves to lift her legs and giving a firm push to help give her the momentum to pull her legs forward. Then suddenly he’s standing, her leg hooked around his neck. He swings her around to his back. She straightens as he bends forward, putting her back down on her feet. She’s immediately falling to her knees and pulls him down with her. The music picks up and they roll, leaping to their feet to go through a series of coordinated moves.

Their synergy is electric. They dance in a way that’s physically emotional, playing out a story. Instead of dancing to the song, the song seems to just be a background for their performance. They play off each other, limbs flowing but controlled. Allura never hesitates when Shiro lifts her or throws her around. Keith can see the complete trust she has in him, a trust gained after years of working together, and it damn near takes his breath away. With the way they dance together, the way they flow together, it’s easy to forget that his brother has a prosthetic. The adjustments they’ve made to compensate for it are subtle, barely noticeable.

The way they dance is so natural. Allura’s hair falls freely as they move, falling in front of her face and over her shoulders but only adding to the emotional appeal of the story. Their faces are relaxed, eyes only for each other. It’s like they’ve completely forgotten they’re performing in front of others. It’s like they only exist for each other. Like the audience is intruding on a private moment.

And it’s a kind of synergy, a kind of tension and adoration that can’t be faked.

Jesus fucking _Christ_ , his brother is blind as a fucking bat. “Just dance partners” his _ass_.

When the music fades, there’s a beat of silence where no one in the room dares to break it. And then Shiro and Allura look up, heartbroken expressions from a moment ago gone and replaced by bright grins. One person claps, and then suddenly the room erupts in applause. Shiro scratches the back of his neck, smiling shyly at the audience as Allura takes his hand and leads him into a graceful bow.

“Wow…” Lance breathes beside him.

“Yeah,” Because there’s not much else he can say.

Then it’s like Lance snaps out of the spell that’s fallen over all of them. He leans back on a hand, head lolling to the side as his eyes go half lidded and he smirks. “It’s gonna be tough, but we can beat them.”

Keith gives him an incredulous look, one eyebrow raised. “ _Beat_ them? We saw the same performance, right? We’re no where _near_ their caliber.”

Lance scoffs, leaning over to nudge Keith’s shoulder with his own. “Come on, Keithy boy, confidence is key here. It’s time your old hag of a brother went _down_. Gotta make way for the new generation, right?”

Keith snorts to hold back his laugh. “Shiro’s an old hag but Allura’s not?”

“Pfff, what? Of course not! Have you _seen_ her? She could be ten thousand years old and still look just as gorgeous.”

Keith hums an affirmative because there’s not much he can say to contest that.

Time seems to flow in a weird, confined flux after that. It takes forever for their names to be called, but once they are, it’s like time had passed in the blink of an eye. Keith’s head snaps up, heart instantly racing as a surge of adrenaline rushes through his veins. Lance is grinning at him, grabbing his arm and yanking him to his feet. “Let’s go, hotshot!”

They pick their way through the mass of sitting dancers, all of them antsy to leave now that they’ve auditioned but politely staying. Keith hands his phone to Coran, song already selected. The man grins at him, idly twisting his mustache. There’s an odd twinkle of what Keith thinks is excitement in his eyes as he says, “Good luck, boys.”

Keith gives him a small smile, nodding as he goes back to Lance, who’s standing in the center of the open floor, arms moving back and forth as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

“Ready for this?”

“Are _you_?”

“Pfff, I got this shit down, for reals. Just try to keep up, mullet man.” He sends him a smirk and a wink before he’s turning his back to him.

Keith steps up and puts his back to Lance’s, and they lock arms.

“Relax.” Keith says under his breath.

“I _am_ relaxed,” Lance hisses back.

“I can feel how stiff you are, idiot.” He’s silent for a beat, so Keith continues, voice kinder. “You’ve got this, Lance. Just relax.”

“Thanks.”

They don’t have time to talk more because Coran’s hit play and Elderbrook’s Could starts playing.

As soon as the opening beats start, they both still, suddenly focused. Keith feels the music crawl beneath his skin, tugging on the strings of his muscle memory. He doesn’t have to think. It’s just another run through. Just another time they dance to this song. He knows it, and he knows he can do this. The anxiety and nervousness that had built up with the wait and anticipation ooze out of him, leaving him laser focused. Despite the adrenaline that’s spiking his blood stream, he feels eerily calm.

The lyrics start and the two of them lean quickly to the side before jerking back to lean forward, their arms splaying apart. Then they’re leaning back, arms locking once again. They both kick their back feet out, bending them at the knees as they lower their weight and bouncing a little as it settles. They hold it for a second, before there’s quicker motion. They put their feet down, arms unlocking and in the air. They pose them up in the air, turning their heads forward as their wrists rotate their fists. Then with the beat, they’re going through a series of poses: Lance leans forward as Keith leans back, then Keith bends forward as Lance leans back, going back and forth and gesturing with their hands.

One beat of a pause, then legs are kicked out. They rotate, dancing around each other, backs always to each other even as they step and spin, kick out and rotate. They stop after a short spin, backs to each other. They go through several moves, gesturing with their legs and their arms. And while Lance’s back is to Keith, he knows Lance is perfectly in time with him. He can feel it. When Lance puts his mind to it, Keith knows he can trust him to sync up with him. It’s an uncanny ability that Keith appreciates.

They come together, Keith facing the audience and Lance’s back to it. They have a hand on each other’s shoulder and their free hands on their hips. Then Keith lifts his hand to Lance’s shoulder, spinning him around.

As soon as they’re both facing forward, their feet are in motion with the new beat. Keith doesn’t focus on the audience in front of him. He focuses on his body, his movements, and Lance beside him. The movements are quick, fitted in with slower movements to mix it up. There’s a lot of hand motions, tiny feet movements, and then they jump, slow and controlled, landing with right knees bent and left legs extended, arms eventuating the diagonal.

They inch up, spin, and then Keith freezes as Lance continues, dancing several quick moves that Keith is fairly certain are improvised. They change every time. Keith counts the beats, and then Lance has frozen and it’s Keith’s turn to move. To be honest, the moments of dance exchanges weren’t part of Keith’s original vision. But Lance has insisted and Keith had given in, if only because they only had less than two weeks to prepare and those were just moments they didn’t have to coordinate together.

After Keith’s moment, they come back together, quick small movements and bigger slow ones, hips moving and bodies shaking. They go down to the ground, executing a few poses with their legs as their arms hold them up before they rotate their feet under them, jumping back up.

The rest of the dance passes in a blur. Keith doesn’t think, he just acts. There are a few times where Lance obviously stumbles over the choreography, but he recovers quickly. He manages to improvise for a few steps in such a way that it looks natural before fitting back in with Keith. Keith sends him a few looks, but Lance isn’t look at him. He’s face is set in a rare expression of concentration.

They end very similar to how they started: back to back, making different poses before locking arms and stopping as the song ends.

They’re still for a moment before the audience starts applauding. Amongst them, he can hear Pidge, Hunk, and Allura the most. They let go of each other, stepping apart. Keith looks over at their friends, and he’s nearly taken aback by the looks he finds there. Hunk looks ecstatic, sitting up straight and clapping loudly as he shouts. Pidge is on their feet next to him, hands on his shoulders and jumping up and down as they grin. Allura’s smile splits her face as she leans forward to clap loudly, putting a hand to her mouth as she cheers. When she meets Keith’s eye, she winks. Shiro is next to her, clapping and smiling and practically glowing with his proud brother expression. Even Coran is smiling, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes to get his phone.

He’s startled when there’s suddenly an arm around his shoulders, steering him to face the crowd. Lance bows, forcing him to bow with him. When Keith looks sideways at him, his smile is wide, eyes and hair wild. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he’s panting a little. And he looks so incredibly happy.

Keith feels something inside him stir, and no, that is not okay. It’s gotta just be the exhilaration of dancing, especially in front of a crowd. He won’t accept anything else.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” Keith says, because he can’t bring himself to encourage Lance’s smile right now. He’s not ready to face that. “I saw you fuck up several times.”

Lance gasps loudly, putting his free hand to his chest and leaning his head away to look at Keith. His arm is still around his shoulders. “Why I never! Keith, how dare you insinuate that I was nothing short of perfect.”

Keith rolls his eyes, putting a hand on Lance’s face to push him away and off of him. “Calm down, Beyonce. We won’t know if we made it until tomorrow.”

Lance stumbles away a step. “Aww, Keith, you think I dance like Beyonce. That’s so sweet.” He coos.

Keith turns to walk back toward their friends, flipping him off over his shoulder. He can hear Lance cackling as he follows.

 

* * *

 

**[ MONDAY ]**

Keith would be lying if he said he isn’t nervous as he pulls into his usual parking space that afternoon.

It’s a really strange feeling, and mostly because he’s not entirely sure where it stems from.

It would be dumb to think auditions don’t have anything to do with it. Obviously that’s been weighing heavily on his mind. It’s the whole anticipation thing again. He doesn’t exactly care if they make it or not. He knows they did their best, and yeah, it could be fun to go to regionals, and yeah, it would probably be good for him, but if they didn’t make it, they didn’t make it. There’s nothing he can do about it now.

But the anticipation of waiting to find out if they made it or not is slowly killing his peace of mind.

And who the hell is he kidding, he really kind of wants to go to regionals now. He’s kind of built himself up to the idea. And yeah, okay, so working with Lance of all people for a while has the potential to be absolutely horrible, but he thinks the good will outweigh the bad. Plus they worked so hard. It would be disappointing to not make it. He’d move on, of course, but he’d be disappointed.

But as much as the outcomes of auditions is bothering him, he doesn’t think that’s entirely the cause of his current nerves. It just… doesn’t feel right. He didn’t get much sleep last night. His sleep was dotted with active dreams that he barely remembers. There was dancing, and his friends, and Lance’s smile. God fuck, that stupid thing was haunting him, and he can’t quite figure out why. He doesn’t want to figure out why.

As he pulls his helmet off and runs his fingers through his hair, anticipation rolls in his gut. As he puts his helmet away and heads for the door to the studio, he’s already coming up with reasons why it would be okay if they didn’t make it. He wouldn’t have to deal with choreographing something with Lance. He wouldn’t have to deal with Lance’s cocky ass attitude. He wouldn’t have to stress over regionals. He could go back to choreographing and dancing for fun by himself. As he pulls the door open and steps inside, he feels like he might be sick.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

A whisper of doubt is fleeting in his mind, but definitely there. He pushes it aside. He’s already made friends during this whole ordeal. Some of them are friends he had to begin with. It’s not like they’re going to ditch him if he doesn’t make it to regionals. They’ll still be there and still talk to him and still hang out with him. Lance will still bug him sometimes, right? He doesn’t think Lance’s stupid idea of a rivalry between them will allow him to ditch Keith altogether.

The main hallway is empty, but he can hear the chattering sounds coming from the front lobby where the bulletin board is. Where results would be posted. He listens closely as he nears, trying to pick out familiar voices.

He rounds the corner, and he pauses. There’s a crowd in the front lobby, most of whom are gathered around the bulletin board. He spies his friends standing near the office door. All of them are there, and they’re all smiling. Coran is talking with Allura and Shiro, who, Keith notices, are standing very close to each other. Like as close as they can without touching. God, his brother is infuriating. Pidge and Lance are standing next to them, talking animately with lots of expressions and hand gestures. Hunk stands near them, smiling as he listens to their exchange.

He’s the first to see Keith. He looks up, and his smile widens as he gesture’s to him. Keith lifts a hand in greeting just as Lance stiffens, straightening as he spins around. His eyes lock on Keith and suddenly his face is breaking out in the widest grin Keith’s ever seen in his goddamn life.

“Keith!”

And suddenly Lance is there, charging across the lobby and wrapping Keith up in a rib bruising hug as he lifts him off his feet and spins around. It’s strangely reminiscence of what he had done in the bookstore all those days ago. The tension in his gut relaxes just as his chest clenches, and oh fuck, no. No no no no. Keith is _not_ doing this.

“Jesus fuck, Lance,” Keith manages to grunt out when Lance puts him back on his feet and releases him, allowing his crushed lungs to draw in a shaky breath.

“Come on!” Lance wastes no time grabbing his arm, practically dragging him across the lobby. Keith stumbles after him before he regains his balance. Lance pushes through the crowd right up to the bulletin board.

“Lance, what are you—“

“Look.” He says, dropping Keith’s arm to point at the piece of paper that’s pinned to the board. Then Keith realizes what he’s looking at. The sheet of paper has two columns, one that’s labeled “solos” and one that’s labeled “duos”. Lance is pointing to their names.

Keith barely has a chance to register this before Lance half turns to look back at him out of the corner of his eyes. They’re half lidded, his lips curling into a small, confident smirk. He’s practically oozing confidence, and while he’s not bubbling with happiness anymore, it’s still there. It’s simmered down into something softer, more sincere, more genuine. Keith can see it in the crinkles around his eyes, in the way his blue irises spark, in the tilt of his smile and the soft flush in his cheeks.

“We did it.” He says then, voice strangely soft amongst the chatter and excited shouts around them. But Keith can hear it loud and fucking clear. “We are a good team.”

With an odd sense of detachment, Keith feels several things all at once. His face is warm, the heat crawling up his neck all the way to this ears. His chest is tight, and he can’t seem to take in more than a shallow breath. His heart stutters in his chest before pounding into overdrive to compensate. A strange shocking thrill runs through him, from his chest to his toes.

And it’s with this odd sense of detachment that Keith realizes three things.

One: these reactions have nothing to do with the fact that he made it to regionals.

Two: Lance Mc-fucking-Clain is absolutely and indisputably fucking gorgeous.

Three: he, Keith Kogane, is so completely and totally fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References for the dances:**  
>  Hunk and Pidge's audition: [Scream - Usher](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/153569855721)  
> Shiro and Allura's audition: [Let It Go - James Bay](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/152345782221/iwontdancenetwork-a-breakup-story-let-it)  
> Lance and Keith's audition: [Could - Elderbrook](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/153569886001)
> 
> (Note: these are just the songs and dances that we headcannon them doing and what we used as inspiration. You can imagine them dancing to whatever song you like. That's the beauty of dance aus)
> 
> Strap in, kids. This fic is gonna get a hell of a lot more gay from here on out B)
> 
> Also, reminder: we check the tags "fic: shut up and dance with me" and "fic: suadwm" if you guys wanna scream about us on tumblr!
> 
> Update: There has been some fanart of the embarrassing teenage pics shared in the group chat! Behold, the [Emo Twins](http://bastart13.tumblr.com/post/153659067570/part-1-of-a-series-of-embarrassing-teenage-photos)!
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/153570727279/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-6-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	7. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro nods, still smiling in that friendly way that really makes Lance reluctant to disappoint him. “Since you two are new partners, obviously there’s going to be some bumps along the way. But we really think that you have the potential to work really well together, and we want to help.”
> 
> Lance shifts so he’s leaning forward, hand balancing on the railing, so he can look at Shiro more fully. He eyes him cautiously. “What’s the catch?”
> 
> Shiro seems amused by that. He crosses his arms over his chest. “The catch is that you might actually learn something.” He raises an eyebrow. “Dangerous, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless Sora, honestly. I wasn't sure how to approach this chapter, but she was really excited for it. So she actually outlined the whole thing for me. Bless this partnership. I don't know what I'd do without her. 
> 
> We put together a playlist for this fic that you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6), and a tumblr post for it [here](http://wittyy-name.tumblr.com/post/155744216031/wittyy-name-shut-up-and-dance-with-me). We put together songs that make us think of this au, that get us pumped for it, that we can see the characters dancing to, and that inspire us. You'll recognize a lot of the songs as ones that make appearances in this fic, as well as some others. Hope you enjoy it as much as we do!
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for all the comments! We read and love every one <3

“What about this one?” Keith asks, and there’s a brief pause before the music starts to play. It takes Lance only until the lyrics start to recognize _The Other Side_.

Lance makes an unsure whine sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my man Jason Derulo, but like… I’m not feeling _it_ , you know?”

Keith grunts, pausing the music. “What is _it_ anyway? You’ve been saying the same thing for the past week, but you haven’t found _it_ yet.” He grumbles, and Lance feels him hunch a little more.

They’re sitting back to back on the floor of room 4D, both looking through their phones. He can’t really blame Keith for his frustration. They _have_ been at this for a week and so far they’ve made no progress. Granted, they haven’t met up every day since regionals, both deciding to take a break from their daily practices to kind of reset and rest. But this is the fourth day they’ve met for a schedule one hour practice session, and so far there’s been no practicing. Just an endless stream of music and disappointment.

He doesn’t think Hunk and Pidge have this much trouble settling on a song, and despite the trouble he and Keith had picking a song for auditions, he didn’t think it would be _this_ hard. But every song Keith suggests just doesn’t _feel_ right, and Keith is all about vetoing Lance’s ideas. They had both decided that since they had roughly three months till regionals, they would pick a completely new song and choreograph something together.

So far, working with Keith is terrible.

“You know, _it!_!” He says, throwing up his hands to gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Lance turns his head to look in the wall length mirror, glaring at Keith’s reflection. Keith tilts his head, catching his eye. “ _It,_ Keith. _It!_ ” He holds up a hand, pinching his thumb and forefinger together and shaking the gesture. “I’m not feeling _it_! It doesn’t feel _right!_.”

Keith snorts, looking back down at his phone. “You’re too picky.”

“Uh, duh, yeah, of course I’m picky! We got into _regionals_ , dude! This is a big deal! If we do well, we could get all _kinds_ of opportunities! I can finally get my dance career on track!”

“You’re going to do well no matter what song we choose.” He mumbles, and his voice is filled with a frustrated grumble, but the compliment in it is so clear, so blunt, and so unabashed, that Lance finds himself staring at Keith’s reflection with wide eyes.

“Uh… thanks?” He says, because he’s not sure what else to do. Keith isn’t usually open with compliments like that, and it kind of catches him off guard.

Keith jerks his head up then, catching Lance’s eye. He seems to realize what he’s said, eyes widening a fraction even as his lips press into a frown. If Lance squints really hard and truly _believes_ , he can almost see the reddening of Keith’s cheeks. But then he’s looking away, hiding his face with a curtain of hair. “Yeah, so get the stick out of your ass and just _pick_ something.”

Aaaand Keith is back to normal. Crisis averted.

“Uh, must I remind you that you’re _just_ as guilty as I am about vetoing songs?”

“Am not.”

“Are, too!”

“Am not!”

“Okay, then what about this one?” He says, pressing a song on his phone and the indisputable beats of _Turn Me On_ by David Guetta and Nicki Minaj starts playing.

Keith actually seems to listen to the song for a bit, and for a moment Lance thinks they might have found something, but then the song gets to the chorus and Keith shakes his head once.

“No.”

“ _Keeeeith_.”

“No.” He repeats, and there’s an odd strain in his voice that Lance can’t quite place.

“Ugh, _see?_ You’re just as bad as I am!”

“Whatever,” He mumbles.

“Alright, how about something more relatable to your former emo sensibilities?” He says, smile in his voice as he hits play and the slow, unmistakable beginning piano notes to _Welcome To The Black Parade_ start up. He’s grinning as the music plays, a laugh barely contained. But to his horror, Keith makes a thoughtful sound.

“You know, now that you mention it…”

“Keith!” Lance sputters, choking out his name as he leans forward and half turns to gape at him. He cannot _believe_ — this is way to cliche— no fucking way— he had been joking!— it’s way too slow for their combined dance style anyway—

Keith half turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He takes one look at Lance’s offended expression and bursts out laughing. The sound is so unexpected and, fuck, he forgets how nice of a laugh Keith has. “Calm down, Lance, I’m _kidding_.” He says, grinning, and Lance has to look away.

“Oh yeah, sure, _now_ you have jokes. Look at Keith, everybody! Stoic McScowl has _jokes_ now. Fancy that!”

He glances up in time to see Keith roll his eyes. The wide grin is gone, but there’s still a small smile there. And okay, they may not be getting anything done, but hey, at least they’re both kind of having fun, right?

Lance always feels… weirdly victorious whenever he manages to make Keith smile. Maybe it’s because the guy always seems so serious and so reserved. But when Lance pulls him out of that… well, it’s a good feeling. Lance has always enjoyed making people laugh. It’s not that weird, really. Besides, against his better judgement, he’s starting to see Keith as a friend. A new, partner, rival friend, but… still a friend. And who doesn’t like making their friends smile?

They’re both quiet for a moment while they scroll through their phones, and Lance tries not to think too much about the fact that he’s not as comfortable now that they’re no longer leaning against each other. Then his eye catches on a song title, and he grins.

“Okay, okay, okay, but what about…” He trails of as he spins around to sit facing Keith. Keith is half turned to him, one knee up and arm resting lazily on it. He looks up at Lance, face blank as he raises a curious eyebrow. Lance keeps eye contact as he hits play.

He doesn’t see the flicker of recognition pass over Keith’s features until the lyrics start. It’s like a slow degeneration of his expression as the blank confusion morphs into a strange mix of horror, disbelief, amusement, and disappointment. Lance throws back his head and laughs as Psy’s _Daddy_ plays.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re joking.” He says when he finally finds his voice.

Lance manages to compose himself, waving a hand at Keith as he chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, sure…” He looks down at his phone, feigning innocence. After a pause, he looks up, gazing at Keith through his lashes as his lips curl into a smirk and he waggles his eyebrows, voice dropping a pitch or two. “Or am I?”

Keith’s expression pinches, lips curling up as his nose crinkles. “Lance, no.”

Lance sighs dramatically, throwing himself backwards to sprawl out on the floor, flopping his limbs out wide and kicking Keith in the process. “Watch out! It’s the fun police!” He puts a hand to his face, cupping around his mouth as he starts to make siren sounds.

He doesn’t get very far into it before Keith is kicking him. “Stop.”

Lance huffs, letting his hand flop back down. They lapse back into silence, in which Keith scrolls through his phone and Lance just stares at the ceiling. All jokes aside, this is _hard_. And despite the fact that he and Keith do, maybe, sort of, have similar music tastes… Lance just can’t choose anything. He wants this dance to be _perfect_. Gold worthy, you know? And he just… what if he chooses wrong? What if there’s a better song? And he thinks that beneath his nonchalance and aggravating calm, Keith is probably feeling the same kind of pressure.

“I’m pretty sure Pidge and Hunk already have a song.” He says conversationally, still staring at the ceiling. “Or they at least have it narrowed down to like… five possibilities.”

“Good for them.” Keith grunts.

“Shiro and Allura probably have theirs picked out already, too.”

“Probably.”

“When you think about it, three months isn’t actually that much time.”

“Lance, does this have a point?”

“The point is we need to pick something so we can start actually dancing.”

“I thought that’s what we were trying to do.”

“Well, it’s not working.”

“You don’t say.”

“Your sass isn’t constructive, Keith.”

“And your commentary on our friends and their ability to actually pick a song is?”

“Alright, ignoring your continuing sass, what I was _getting at_ , is we should like…yolo.”

“What does that even mean, Lance?”

Lance props himself up on his elbows to actually look at Keith. He prods him with the toe of his shoe. “We should try it my way. You knoooow…”

Keith just stares at him for a moment. Lance sees when he realizes what Lance is getting at, apprehension flickering across his features. “No.”

“Keeeeeith,” Lance pokes him harder, nearly knocking him over. Keith pushes his foot away.

“No.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Lance asks, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout but meeting Keith’s gaze with a steady challenge.

Keith is the first to back down. He sighs, face settling into begrudging defeat. “Fine.”

Lance lets out a loud, wordless cheer, practically jumping to his feet as he scrambles over to the auxiliary cable. He plugs in his phone, sets it to shuffle, and pulls his bluetooth remote out of his bag. Keith has scooted back so he’s sitting up against the mirror, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watches him.

Lance stands in front of him in the middle of the room, hands on his hips as he scowls. “You, too. Get over here.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Uh, no?”

“Keith!”

“This is your thing, dude.”

“But we’re picking _our_ song! You need to feel _it_ , too!” Keith still looks skeptical. Lance sets his face into a challenging frown and points to the ground next to him. “Keith Kogane, get your ass over here.”

Keith looks like he’s going to refuse again, but something in him gives and he sighs, shaking his head as he gets to his feet. He trudges over to Lance, dragging his feet. His arms stay crossed over his chest, and he looks more awkward than Lance is used to seeing him. Lance gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile and starts his music.

His eyes fall closed as he nods his head, picking up the beat. Then he starts to move. He falls into it pretty easily, trying to focus on the song and how it calls out to him. He doesn’t think twice about how he’s dancing. He barely pays attention to it. It’s just natural. As long as he’s moving, he can get a feel for the song and determine whether or not it has that _it_ factor.

It takes him about two skips and roughly a minute to realize that Keith isn’t dancing at all.

“Keith,” Lance says, tone accusatory as he stares at him. He doesn’t stop moving though, swaying from hip to hip.

“What?” He’s still just standing there and looks like he hasn’t moved an inch.

“You have to _dance_ , dude!”

“No, I don’t.”

“How else are you going to know when you feel _it_?”

“I don’t even know what _it_ is!”

“Come on, man, just… _move_.” Lance steps up to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and trying to get him to do just that. He does, but it’s reluctant and stiff and barely more than just a swaying back and forth. His face is pinched and unhappy, and there’s a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. Yeesh, for a guy who’s ridiculously confident when he dances, he sure isn’t showing it now. He doesn’t even look like the same person Lance danced with a week ago. “Now who looks like they have a stick up their ass, hm?”

“Shut up.” Keith glares at him, slapping his hands away. “I just… I don’t do this, okay? This is _your_ method, so _you_ do it.”

The rest of their practice session is about as productive as the first half. Lance spends nearly ten minutes trying to convince Keith to dance, to just _cut loose_ and _relax_ , but he isn’t having any of it. He begrudgingly dances on his own after that, shuffling through his songs and _trying_ to ignore Keith and his permanent pout as he sits against the mirror and watches him. Lance _tries_ to show Keith it can be _fun_ , but he’s already been thrown off his groove and he’s dancing more out of principal than because he actually feels it.

They don’t end up picking a song. Again.

They don’t talk as they pack up and leave room 4D. They don’t bicker or joke as they trudge down the stairs, each footfall heavy and echoing. They don’t race down the steps.

Shiro is waiting for them when they reach the ground floor. He’s leaning up against the wall next to the stairwell entrance, ankles crossed, phone in hand, and prothetic shoved in his pocket. Keith stops at the bottom of the stairs, and Lance stops on the last couple steps. Shiro looks up, smiling when he sees them.

“Hey, guys,” He says, putting his phone away.

“Uh, hey, Shiro.” Lance says, raising both eyebrows. “Were you waiting for us?”

“I was, actually.” He says brightly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s not, though. Lance can’t remember a single time the man’s waited for them after practice.

“Oh, uh, what’s up?” He asks because Keith is silence, eyeing his brother curiously.

“I just wanted to ask how it’s been going? You know, preparing for regionals.”

At that, Lance groans long and loud as he reaches out to grab the railing and leans on it so he can properly and dramatically throw his weight around. “Awful!”

“I take it you guys haven’t chosen a song yet?”

“No,” Keith finally speaks up, and he sounds just as grumpy as he looks. “Lance says he’s not feeling _it_ in any of the songs we’ve listened to.”

He can practically _hear_ the air quotes. “Because they’re not right!”

“How do you _know_? You haven’t given any of them a chance!”

Lance turns his head to glare at Shiro. “See what I have to deal with?”

Shiro tilts his head, lips curved into a small, apologetic and sympathetic smile. “I was worried this might happen.”

“What is _this_ , exactly?” Keith asks as Lance’s eyes narrow at Shiro.

The man shrugs. “Neither of you are used to working with a partner, let alone each other. You guys did great at auditions, but it was clear there were some, uh, synergy issues?”

So it was that obvious, huh? It’s not like they did _bad_. Obviously they had done well enough to be chosen for regionals. But Lance can’t quite deny the obvious disconnect between him and Keith. He doubts anyone without dance experience could see it. It’s subtle, something only those used to dancing and especially dancing with a partner can feel. Like they aren’t on the same page when they dance together. Or like… they’re the same book, but it’s two different editions, so while it might be the same place in the story, the words don’t line up on the pages just right.

They learned the same dance, and they both did it to the best of their abilities, which is no doubt how they had succeeded. But it was clear that they were both in their own heads. They were dancing together physically, but not mentally. Lance didn’t think it mattered too much. They did well for only having less than two weeks to work. He’s proud of what they did. He just knows that, given more time and more synergy between them, it could have been better.

He’s also kind of embarrassed that Shiro’s been able to pick up on it.

When neither of them respond, Shiro continues. “Allura and I have been talking—“

“Oh, god…” Keith mumbles.

“And we think that you two could benefit from some of our lessons.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Lessons?”

“One of your duo synergy building lessons?” Keith sounds skeptical and none too happy.

Shiro nods, still smiling in that friendly way that really makes Lance reluctant to disappoint him. “Since you two are new partners, obviously there’s going to be some bumps along the way. But we really think that you have the potential to work really well together, and we want to help.”

Lance shifts so he’s leaning forward, hand balancing on the railing, so he can look at Shiro more fully. He eyes him cautiously. “What’s the catch?”

Shiro seems amused by that. He crosses his arms over his chest. “The catch is that you might actually learn something.” He raises an eyebrow. “Dangerous, I know.”

Lance snorts, eyeing Keith sideways as he mumbles under his breath. “I see where you get your sass from.” He thinks he might have seen a twitch at Keith’s lips.

“So what’d you say? This Wednesday? Three hour practice session with me and Allura?”

Keith groans, and Lance finds himself echoing that sentiment. Still, it’s obvious they’re getting no where on their own, and he _really_ wants to do well at regionals. He’ll take all the help he can get. Still, he has his pride. He’s caught between brushing it off and claiming they’ve got this in the bag, and actually accepting the help. He looks to Keith to find he’s already staring at him. They exchange tight lipped frowns. He can see his own struggle mirrored in Keith’s eyes.

Then Keith gives him an almost imperceptible nod, and Lance sighs.

He finds himself saying, “Sure, why not?”

It can’t be too bad, right?

 

* * *

 

Room 2A is a lot like the other rooms in the studio: polished hardwood floors, wall length mirror, sound system, but it’s nearly twice as big as Keith’s usual room up on the fourth floor. Shiro and Allura _do_ require a lot of space when they dance, but Keith can’t imagine a scenario where they would need _this_ much room. Still, he supposes it’s a perk of technically owning the place. They can have whatever room they want.

Keith is there before Lance. It was raining that morning, so he had opted to hitch a ride with Shiro instead of riding his bike. Unfortunately, Shiro and Allura have a scheduled practice session of their own for an hour before their lesson with him and Lance. So that’s how he finds himself in room 2A, sitting with his back to the mirror, headphones on, his chill playlist blasting, and idly playing a game on his phone.

He’s only half paying attention to what Shiro and Allura are doing. They start out with some kind of drill practice, then move on into going through old routines. They’re nothing Keith hasn’t seen a hundred times before. They’re still impressive, but Keith has other things on his mind.

Like Lance.

He really wishes he didn’t have Lance on his mind. But there he is. In all of his tanned skinned, blue eyed, dopey smiled glory. Rooting himself in the base of Keith’s thoughts. Always there and always waiting with an infuriating smirk and cocky pride whenever Keith lets his mind wander. He hates it. He wants to just… dig Lance up and toss him into the pile with the rest of his friends in his mental mind dump. But no. Just like in real life, Lance has to be stubborn and a constant thorn in Keith’s metaphorical side.

It’s not like finding people attractive is rare. Keith has been attracted to plenty of people in his twenty-two years of existence. He just… hasn’t been attracted to one of his friends since high school, and he had forgotten how absolutely terrible it can be. Especially since it’s _Lance_ , and Lance is just… infuriating, for the most part. He’s such a cacophony of positive and negative traits that Keith finds himself in a near constant state of whiplash.

Still, Keith is pretty sure his attraction is just physical. There’s so way in hell it can be anything deeper than that. There’s no way Keith is going to _let_ it be deeper than that. That road can only lead to complications with his new friend group and with this whole regional thing, and it’s a road Keith is determined not to go down.

Still… there’s a surprisingly big difference for crossing the relatively thin line of finding someone attractive and admitting to yourself that you find that person attractive. That difference comes down to self awareness. And Keith’s self awareness is loud. For one stupid moment, he had thought that if he acknowledged it, maybe he could move past it. He had been so wrong. Now he’s just stuck _thinking_ about it, constantly _aware_ whenever Lance is close, whenever he smiles, whenever he fucking winks. He wants it to just go away. He wants to go back to when they were just friends. Or at least the awkward beginning of friends. Back before he had all these… _extra_ thoughts flying around.

They’re unwanted, unnecessary, and quite honestly, annoying.

They make him second guess himself. They make him notice things he wishes he didn’t. They make him hyper aware of Lance whenever he’s nearby. They make him aware of his own reactions and therefore embarrassed of those reactions, which only manages to make it worse. And it comes right down to making it an unpredictable and awkward experience whenever he has to interact with his new set of friends. It’s like his own personal hell.

But crushes fade, right? This one will go away, too.

… Not that it really qualifies as a crush. It’s just attraction. That’s like… only a pre-stage to a crush. And Keith will be _damned_ if he’s going to let things get that far. Fuck no.

So Keith lets his music wrap him up and tries to force himself to relax, telling himself that this whole lesson with Shiro and Allura will be _fine_. They’re just going to learn how be better dance partners. Plenty of people have gone through training with Shiro and Allura and have come out of it better dancers.

It’ll be _fine_.

Still, no matter how many times he tells himself that, he can’t help the small hitch in his breath as the door opens, and the way his heart lodges itself in his throat as Lance walks in.

Shiro and Allura don’t stop dancing, but as he looks up, he briefly sees the flicker of recognition on both their faces.

Lance pauses in the doorway, eyes sweeping over them before he gently shuts the door behind him and inches along the mirror wall to sit himself next to Keith. He drops his bag at his side, reaching out to tap a finger against Keith’s headphones. Reluctantly, he turns off his music and pulls the headphones down to rest around his neck, half turning to glance at Lance.

He’s smiling, and it’s just a casual greeting smile, but it does things to Keith’s insides that he’s not proud of. “Sorry I’m late.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You are?”

Lance looks mildly surprised. “Uh, yeah, by like ten minutes. I had to wait for my mom to get home from the store. Can’t leave the kids alone, you know?”

“Honestly, I didn’t even notice you were late.”

Lance snorts. “Gee, thanks, buddy.”

Keith shrugs, gesturing to where Shiro grabs Allura’s waist, lifting her and spinning before bending over. She flips over his back and lands on her toes, one foot at a time, with all the grace and balance of a ballet dancer. He doesn’t know if she’s taken ballet before, but he wouldn’t be surprised. “They’ve just been dancing, so I haven’t noticed.”

Lance eyes them curiously, and Keith is glad to have his attention elsewhere. “New routine?”

Keith shakes his head. “Old routines. Like, years old. I don’t even know how they remember all of it, to be honest.”

Lance snorts, bumping Keith’s shoulder with his own. “Like you don’t remember all of your choreographed dances, too.”

Keith feels his lips quirk into a small smile. “Fair.”

“So have you ever like… taken one of these lessons with them?”

“Nope.”

“So you have no idea what to expect.”

“Not really.”

“But it’s supposed to make us better dance partners?”

“Supposedly? Shiro brags about his students all the time, so I guess it works.”

“Well, he’s going to brag about us next, because we’re totally going to _nail_ this lesson. Step one, whatever this is. Step two, we pick a song. Step three, regionals!”

Keith snorts out a small laugh, and just like that, he feels the tension he had been feeling melt away. This is familiar. This is just _Lance_. There’s nothing deep about it. He thinks that a lot of his uncertainty and nervousness comes from the anticipation of seeing Lance. Of not knowing how he’ll response to seeing him. But then once he’s there, it’s fine. It’s just Lance. Nothing special, nothing unexpected. Just like with performing. He overthinks things, but when the moment comes, it’s fine.

He’ll be fine.

The song ends, and their dance comes to a close with Shiro and Allura gazing into each other’s eyes with enough choked emotion that Keith knows it can’t be all for show. For just a second, he feels like he’s intruding on a personal moment, but then that moment is shattered as Lance claps loudly, whistling and cheering enough to make the two of them laugh as they draw away from each other.

“Nice of you to show up, Lance.” Allura says, though it’s all teasing and not unkind.

He shrugs. “Family things. You know how it goes.”

“Well, all that matters is you’re here now, and we can get started.” Shiro says, going to where his phone is plugged into the sound system. He stops the playlist from playing the next song and takes a long swing from a water bottle before tossing it to Allura.

“Yeah! Let’s get this party started!” Lance practically jumps to his feet, bounding further out into the room. Keith is much slower, taking his time to put his phone and headphones in his bag before reluctantly standing and going to join Lance next to Allura.

She smiles at them. “Your enthusiasm is appreciated, Lance.”

“Yeah, Keith, where’s your enthusiasm?” Shiro asks, coming to stand next to him and bumping him with his shoulder.

Keith crosses his arms over his chest and deadpans, “I must have left it in my other bag.”

Lance snickers, and Shiro tries to hide his smile. “Come on, you can do better than that. This is your first lesson with your big bro in years.”

Keith levels a look at him and lifts one finger, rotating it around in a small circle as he says in a baseline monotone, “Yay.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but his smile stays in place. Lance sounds like he’s struggling to contain himself, but Allura brings all of their attention back to her as she clears her throat. “So, Keith, Lance, do you two know why you’re here?”

“Uh, to learn to be better dance partners?” Lance says, like he’s expecting this to be a trick question and he’s not quite sure of the answer.

Allura nods, one hand on her hip as she gestures to them with her water bottle. “Yes. Now don’t get me wrong, you two are both amazing dancers in your own right, and it’s understandable that you were a little rocky at auditions. You did well, but it was obvious that you lacked some basic level synergy that partners need in order to put on a good show. It was like…” She wave the bottle around, eyes searching the ceiling as she struggles to find the right words.

“It was like you were dancing the same dance next to each other rather than _with_ each other.” Shiro supplies.

Allura snaps her fingers, pointing at him. “Yes, that. Exactly.” She sends him a brief but brilliant smile before looking away, and Keith doesn’t miss the way his brother’s cheeks darken, or the shy smile that takes over his face. “So the purpose of lessons is to help you two develop your relationship as partners and hopefully build some synergy between you. You already have a really good foundation, and we believe that with a little help, the two of you can really go far.”

Lance looks like he’s reveling in the praise, but Keith can’t help but feel a sliver of apprehension coil in his gut.

“Did you say… Lessons? As in plural?” He asks warily.

It’s Shiro who answers, a wide smile in place. “Yes, we were hoping to have a lesson with the two of you once a week for at least a month.”

“The rest of them will be shorter than this one.” Allura adds. “But we feel continuous work like this will drastically help your improvement.”

“It’s often an overlooked aspect of dancing, but it’s very important. Especially in duos when it’s only you and one other person, and you can’t hide in a group.”

“And it’s especially important with you two, seeing as you barely knew each other just a couple weeks ago.”

Keith isn’t aware of his facial expression changing until Lance bumps into him playfully. “Calm down, sourpuss.” He says, giving Keith a confident grin. “This’ll be good for us.” He turns back to Allura. “I’m down for anything that’ll help us stomp at regionals.”

She looks delighted. “That’s the spirit, Lance!” And then something in her expression changes. It’s subtle, and Keith is convinced the only reason he catches it is because he’s spent so much time on the receiving end of that look. Her chin tilts downward a fraction, her eyes narrow just slightly, a spark in the depths of her irises, a small quirk to her lips. “We’re going to start today’s lesson with trust exercises.”

Keith tenses, and he can see Lance stiffening in his peripheral vision. “Uh, trust exercises?” Lance says, voice echoing Keith’s own apprehension. “I thought we were here to learn how to dance?”

Allura’s mega watt smile doesn’t falter. If anything it gets a little more conniving as she tilts her head to the side just slightly. “You already know how to dance. You’re here to learn how to dance _together_ , and that requires a level of trust that neither of you have yet.”

Lance rolls his eyes, leaning his weight back as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Pfff, Keith and I _totally_ trust each other when it comes to dancing. We don’t need to do trust exercises. Right, Keith?”

“Yeah,” He agrees, trying to sound stern. But he knows that look, and Allura isn’t about to let this go.

“So you’re saying that if I asked you to, you’d be willing to jump headfirst into Keith’s arms right now. No hesitation. No questions asked. And trust him to catch you?” Shiro asks, eyebrows raised.

Lance turns his head to look at Keith, and Keith meets his gaze. He tries his hardest to communicate with him silently, pleading him to just agree that he trusts him. Maybe if they can convince Shiro and Allura, they won’t have to do the exercises.

But Lance is looking him over, lips pressed tight and eyes narrowed, and Keith knows it’s a losing battle. “Yeaaaah,” Lance says slowly, turning back to Allura, but holding Keith’s gaze for a second longer, lifting his chin as he looks at him warily. “So… about those trust exercises…”

Allura laughs. “Glad you’re seeing things my way.”

Keith groans. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to do trust fa—“

“First thing we’re going to do is trust falls.” Allura says over him, clasping her hands together loudly. “I doubt you’ll need a demonstration, but just in case.” And then she falls. She just leans over, keeping her legs straight as she rocks back on her heels, and suddenly she’s falling.

Keith isn’t even sure he sees Shiro move, but suddenly he’s there, catching Allura beneath the arms and tilting her back onto her feet.

She straightens, hands on her hips. “Like that. Now come on.” She says, waving her hands at them. “Lance, you’re first. Keith, make sure to catch him.” When neither of them move right away, instead exchanging wary glances, she signs and steps forward, forcefully moving them into position with a tight grip around their arms. She sets Lance up only a couple feet away, his back to Keith. He tries to turn around to look at him, but Allura just spins him back around before stepping away. “Now, go.”

Keith sighs, turning his attention to Lance and holding his arms out. He braces his legs to catch Lance’s weight, and he waits… and waits… and—

“Are you ready?” Lance peeks over his shoulder.

“Yes, Lance. Just fall already.” He says, lifting his arms a little higher to demonstrate just how ready he is.

Lance’s brow furrows. “Right, yeah, okay.” He turns back forward. His arms are at his sides, and Keith can see his fingers nervously tapping each other and his legs. “Here I go. Falling. Right now. Gonna fall. Just… gonna lean back.”

“Anytime now, Lance.” Allura says, and Keith can tell she’s trying to be patient, but there’s an exasperated edge there.

“You can’t force trust, Allura!” Lance snaps, voice a little higher than it was before.

Keith sees Shiro put a hand on Allura’s shoulder. “He’s right. Let them do this at their own pace.” He says gently, more to her than either of them. They exchange soft looks, and once again Keith is hit with the sensation that he’s intruding on a private moment. He turns back to Lance.

“Lance. I’m ready. Just go.” He really just wants to get this over with. He doesn’t want to think about Lance in his arms any longer than necessary.

“Alright, alright, don’t push me.” Lance grumbles. And after a few more seconds of anxiously shifting his weight around, he starts to lean back. He holds out his arms, weight rocking back on his heels. He starts to fall, and— he catches himself, stumbling back a step and wheeling his arms before looking over his shoulder with an accusatory expression, like _Keith_ is the one who messed up. “Are you _sure_ you’re ready? Because I don’t feel like you’re really ready—“

“Lance, for fuck’s sake!” Shiro clears his throat, but Keith ignores him. “Just shut up and trust me!”

“Alright, _fine_! Yeesh, no need to yell…” His voice grumbles off, but he takes up his position again.

After a significantly shorter wait, Lance actually leans back and falls. To be completely honest, Keith was expecting him to stop himself again. But he actually goes through with it, and Keith finds himself stumbling to brace himself as Lance’s deadweight falls into his arms. He has to step back to balance himself as Lance hits his chest, arms stiffening as they catch under Lance’s armpits. He grits his teeth as he rebalances, ignoring Lance’s mildly surprised yelp.

For a second, just one measly second where he’s distracted, Keith finds himself reeling from Lance’s warmth, the feel of his back against his chest, the smell of his shampoo is strong and pleasant. And then he’s pushing forward, getting Lance back up to his feet and they’re no longer touching.

“You almost dropped me!” Lance says, spinning around to face him, lips twisted in an accusatory pout.

Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “But I didn’t.”

“But you almost did! I felt you stumble!”

He shrugs. “You weighted more than I thought you would.”

Lance gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Alright, that was good. A little unsteady, but good. Now switch. Keith, you fall, and Lance, you catch him.” Allura pauses, fixing Lance with a stern stare. “And please don’t drop him.”

“I wouldn’t!” She just holds his gaze. He sighs loudly, turning away from her to face Keith. He holds out his arms, jaw set in determination. “Come on, Keith.”

Keith turns his back to Lance, completely set to just fall as soon as he does, but he hesitates. Alright, so… in the moment it’s a little harder than he anticipated. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Lance, it’s just… he doesn’t like letting himself blindly fall. No one does. It’s against human nature. That might be why it’s good for a trust exercise, but right now Keith is using that as his validation for hesitating. It has nothing to do with the thought of Lance holding him whisking through his mind in a flash before dissipating.

Still, he’s determined to make a point and not wait or stall as long as Lance did.

“What’s the matter, Joe Jonas? Not so easy when it’s you, now is—“

He cuts off abruptly with another yelp as Keith lets himself fall. He’s not entirely sure Lance is ready. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s not. But at this point, Keith doesn’t really care. Maybe if he hits the ground hard enough, he’ll black out and won’t have to deal with this anymore.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t hit the ground. He hits Lance square in the chest… and then his momentum keeps going. Lance’s arms wrap around him and he lets out a sharp shout as he tips over and they both go down. Panic spikes and he fails, but it does nothing. The air is knocked from his lungs when he lands on top of Lance, and he hears the other wheeze in response.

“I wasn’t ready.” Lance groans under him, arms letting go to flop out to the sides.

Keith had tensed during the fall, and now relaxes, letting his body sag on top of Lance’s as his head lolls back onto his shoulder. “You were supposed to be ready, idiot. That’s the whole point of this exercise.”

“You’re the idiot for falling when I was obviously not ready!”

“You were telling me to fall!”

Then Shiro is there, holding out a hand to help Keith up. He takes it. “Alright, it was nobody’s fault.” He says, reaching down to help Lance up. “But can we please try to take this seriously?”

“I _was_ taking it seriously.” Keith grumbles.

“Yeah, me too!”

“Then go again.” Allura says, walking over to where Shiro’s phone is plugged in. She pulls up a playlist of songs that Keith recognizes as _her_ chill playlist as soon as the music starts. She turns down the volume so it’s just background noise. “Lance, it’s your turn again.”

“But—!”

“Lance.” Shiro’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Lance glares at Keith. “You better not drop me.”

“Like you dropped me?”

“I stopped your fall with my body! That has to count for something!”

Keith hums thoughtfully. “I’ll think about it.”

“Keith! Buddy!”

Keith smirks, holding out his arms. “Just trust me and fall. I won’t drop you.”

Lance gives him a lingering glare, but turns around nonetheless. He breathes deep, like a man resigning himself to his fate, and falls. Keith catches him, and this time he’s prepared enough to avoid stumbling.

Lance hits his chest with a soft _oomph_ and opens his eyes after a second. He glances around before tilting his head back. His hair brushes against Keith’s collarbones, and he wishes he didn’t notice that detail. “Huh, you caught me.”

Keith holds his smirk in place. “I told you I would.”

“Not gonna lie, I thought you would let me fall.”

“I’m not a dick, Lance.”

But then Keith bends his legs quickly, abruptly dropping his body several inches. Lance drops with him. It’s not much, and it’s over before it really starts, but it doesn’t stop Lance from crying out, flailing a little before he catches back on Keith’s arms. Keith can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat. He can ever hear Shiro and Allura snickering from the side, smiles hidden by their hands.

“That wasn’t funny!” Lance snaps. His ears are red.

“It was pretty funny.”

“Whatever…” He grumbles, and even though he can’t see his face, Keith can hear his pout. Lance kind of hangs in his arms for a moment, arms slung over Keith’s, which are tense and rigid from holding him up, back against Keith’s chest. He does this weird little flex thing, tightening his armpits around Keith’s arm. Keith is about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when Lance finally speaks. “Damn, Keith. I guess you do lift, huh?”

He nearly drops him right then and there. Instead, he pushes him roughly to his feet.

Allura is clapping. “Very good! Now Keith, let’s try this again. Lance—“

“I won’t drop him this time!”

“Good.”

Keith is grateful for the excuse to turn his back to Lance. His neck feels a little too warm. He can’t help but ask, “Ready?” But it’s more teasing than anything.

Lance hums out an affirmative, and right before he falls, he hears Lance sing under his breath, “He’s going down, I’m yelling _timbeeeer_!”

Lance catches him, and barely stumbles at all. He’s a surprisingly sturdy weight behind him, and Keith tries not to think too hard about that. Especially when Lance chuckles low in his throat, the sound so close to Keith’s ear and his chest shaking under him.

“Aww, you’re falling for me.” Lance coos playfully, and Keith groans loudly, slapping his hands over his face.

“Please just let me fall and hit my head.”

“No can do, dude. We’ve got work to do.”

Allura makes them go through several more trust falls, and each time it gets easier. Once they realize the other is sturdy enough to catch the other, and they come to an unspoken agreement to do what Allura says for their own good, the catches and falls are easy. They go through them quickly, and it doesn’t take Lance long to get bored.

When it’s his turn, he doesn’t waste anytime swooning dramatically, hand to his forehead as he falls. When it’s Keith’s turn, Lance makes another falling for him joke. Keith looks Shiro straight in the eyes and deadpans, “Kill me.”

Shiro obliges by lifting a hand and pointing a finger gun at him. “Blam.” He says, smiling playfully. Keith ignores his brother’s terrible attempt at making a gun sound and puts a hand to his chest, falling like he was shot. Lance is laughing as he catches him, and nearly drops him because of it. Keith doesn’t mind. He hides his smile.

Turns out, all in all, the trust falls aren’t that bad. Unfortunately, just when he’s starting to really believe that everything will be fine, Allura hits them with the next trust exercise.

“Do we _have_ to?” Lance whines, shoulders sagging as his head lolls to the side.

“Yes,” She says firmly, arms crossed over her chest. “Eye contact is a very important part of building synergy. How are you supposed to dance with someone and convey unity if you can’t even look at each other.”

“I can look at Keith just fine. It’s the staring part that’s just so… _awkward_.”

Keith can’t even take offense to that. He agrees completely.

They’re both sitting on the floor now, each of them with their arms crossed over their chests and stubbornly not looking at each other.

“I assure you, it’s not as awkward as you think.” Her voice softens into something more sympathetic. “It may feel awkward now, but if you can do this, then making eye contact while dancing will be easy. Shiro can hold my gaze for entire dances without feeling awkward.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Keith mutters under his breath, and Lance snickers.

Allura sighs. “Just do the exercise. One minute. That’s all I ask.”

“But—“

“No but’s.” She steps forward, reaching out to put a hand on both of their heads. With a firm jerk, she forces them to face each other. “Shiro, will you time them?”

“Yup. Go ahead and start, guys.”

Allura removes her hand and steps back, and suddenly Keith feels a lot more alone and a lot more vulnerable. He stares at Lance, and Lance stares back. His lips are pressed into a small frown that’s bordering on a pout. Keith does his best to school his expression into something neutral. He’s not sure if he succeeds. The silence that falls over the room is deafening, despite the music playing softly over the speakers. Lance’s fingers are tapping on his arms, picking at his shirt. Keith starts counting the seconds because he’s not sure what else to do. Each second is agonizingly slow. And the whole time, he’s lost in a sea of dark blue with flecks of grays and lighter shades that swirl into a storm—

Lance’s eyes narrow a fraction. “I bet I can go longer than you without blinking.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “You want to turn our staring contest… into a staring contest.”

Lance’s head cocks to the side, a smirk quirking his lips. “Yes.”

Keith frowns. “You’re on.”

“Okay, starting— _now_!”

And suddenly, it’s a lot easier to stare at him. Because he really can’t help himself. A challenge has been laid down, and Keith isn’t one to give up easily. Thank god for Lance and his tendency to turn everything into a contest. He stops counting in favor of glaring at Lance, focusing on not blinking. He can feel his eyelid twitching, but he holds back the impulse. Lance scrunches up his nose in an effort to do the same.

Time seems to get away from him because suddenly Shiro is calling out, “Time!”

It startles him enough that he blinks. Lance blinks a second after, face brightening as he straightens, pumping a fist in the air. “I win!”

“Lance, this wasn’t supposed to be a contest.” Shiro sounds more tired than authoritative. “It’s supposed to help you two get closer and more comfortable with each other.

”Well, I’m more comfortable when I’m kicking Keith’s ass.”

Keith scoffs. “You only won because Shiro distracted me.”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Shiro mumbles with a soft groan and a plea.

“Luckily for you, you can have a rematch.” Allura says, and all three of them turn to look at her. Shiro gives her a curious look, eyebrows raised. She meets his gaze, shrugging with a small smile. “They might be needlessly turning it into a contest, but at least they’re doing the exercise. We might as well roll with it.”

Shiro shrugs, returning her smile. “Fair enough.”

“Wait, so we have to do it _again_?” Lance asks, sounding a little dismayed. Keith can’t even bring himself to be offended. He’s not exactly happy about it either.

“Yup,” She smiles brightly.

“You said it would only be a minute!”

“For the first time, yes. This time, you’ll be holding eye contact for two minutes.”

“What?!”

Both her and Shiro are leaning up against the railing that lines the mirror wall. Both with their arms crossed loosely over their chests. Despite the cheery innocence in her voice, Keith can see that familiar spark in her eyes. A trickle of nauseating anticipation snakes down his spine. “Only this time, you’re going to hold hands.”

Keith tries to protest, but his heart lodges itself firmly in his throat, and all that comes out is a choked gasp. Lance seems to be having a similar problem. Keith refuses to look at him, instead staring intently at Allura with wide eyes, trying to convey a silent warning and a plea. Allura ignores him, and Lance makes these strange strangled sounds next to him. Keith feels a telltale warmth creeping up his neck.

Lance manages to find his voice first. He clears his throat, and Keith glances sidelong at him. He puts his hands flat together, holding them up to his face. His eyes are closed as he inhales deeply. “Okay, wait, hold up, let me get this straight…” He opens his eyes and points his hands at Allura. “You want us to stare at each other. For two minutes. While _holding hands_?!”

Allura doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Lance sputters for a second. “Allura, _why?_ ”

“Because I strongly believe that this is important, Lance.” Her voice is a little more firm, but no less calm. “Eye contact and physical touch are important aspects to dancing as a duo, even if you don’t dance in the style that Shiro and I prefer. Eye contact and touch are ways to interact, to build synergy between you during a performance, to really show that you’re dancing _together_. This is just a simple exercise to get you used to these two things. If you can do this, then doing it while dancing will be easy.”

“Yeah, but—“

“No but’s!”

Lance huffs, and Keith can see him turning to face him out of the corner of his eye. Keith’s gaze flicker between Allura and Shiro, eyes narrowed. They both meet his gaze steadily, both feigning innocence. He doesn’t believe that act for a second. Everything Allura had said makes sense, and she explained it with such ease that Keith believes that this is a regular part of this lesson. But he doesn’t believe that they’re getting no extra satisfaction out of watching him squirm.

He’s going to kill Shiro later.

“Let’s get this over with.” Lance mumbles, and suddenly he’s shifting. Keith’s head whips around to stare at him as he scoots forward, stopping only when their knees touch. Lance doesn’t look at him as he holds out his hands. Has Lance always had such long, slender fingers? “ _Keeeeith_ ,” Lance whines. Keith hadn’t realized he’s been staring. He starts, eyes flying up to Lance’s. His lips are pursed into a small frown, eyes hard and unreadable as he looks up at him. “Don’t leave me hanging, dude.”

Keith sighs, feeling stiff as he unfolds his arms and puts his hands in Lance’s. Their fingers tighten around each other just a fraction, enough that Allura can’t argue that they aren’t holding hands.

“Alright, staring the time— now.” Shiro says from somewhere to the side.

Keith is barely paying attention. His eyes are on Lances, lips pressed tight as he hopes and prays that his expression is something calm. His face feels irrationally warm, and so does his hand. Jesus fuck, he hopes his palms aren’t sweating. Thank god he’s wearing his gloves. The only solace he has is the faint blush taking over Lance’s cheekbones, splashing color across his nose.

Lance’s eyes flicker between his, the small movement oddly hesitant and erratic. Lance’s expression contorts in minor ways, a twitch here, a wrinkle there. He looks like he’s fighting and losing some internal battle. Keith just focuses on keeping his expression still, subtly taking deep breaths to calm the fluttering in his stomach.

He sees the moment Lance decides to speak. He sees it in the spark in his eyes, the twitch of his lips. When he finally finds his voice, the ghost of a smile is present. “Jesus, Keith, your hands are like sandpaper. Ever hear of a thing called lotion?”

Keith feels his brows pinch, lips tugging into a frown. “Have you ever worked a day in your life? You have next to no callouses.”

Lance’s smirk widens. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. It’s amazing what miracles a good skin care routine can do.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Seriously, dude, do you bite your nails?” Lance pokes and prods his finger tips with his thumbs, feeling the rough skin around the nail beds where Keith has picked at it.

“That’s none of your business.”

“That’s gross, dude.”

“Like you never pick at your nails.”

“I don’t. Check ‘em out.”

And Keith does, running his thumb gently over the tips of his fingers. His nails are smooth and filed into perfect little crescents close to skin. The skin around his nails is perfectly unblemished, at least from what Keith can feel. He frowns. “How the hell…”

“It’s called impulse control, mullet.”

Keith grunts wordlessly, still holding eye contact. It’s easier when they bicker, but the silence they fall back into makes him feel restless. His hands get fidgety in Lance’s, finger idly tapping against Lance’s wrist. He then feels one of the many bracelets on his wrists brush against his fingertip, and that seems like as good a conversation as any.

“Why do you wear these?”

For a second, it looks like Lance is going to instinctively look down. He stops himself at the last moment. “What?”

“The bracelets. They look like a kid’s friendship bracelets.”

He expects some kind of frown or pout, but instead Lance’s expression goes soft, head tilting to the side. “They are.” Keith quirks an eyebrow, and Lance continues. “I have a lot of siblings, and nieces, and nephews, and cousins, and most of them are younger than me. It’s kind of like a family tradition for me and my older siblings to teach the younger ones how to make them. Then they get obsessed with making them, and suddenly I’ve got a million and five bracelets shoved at me. Of course I’m going to wear them all.”

Keith feels his lips twitch. “Of course.”

“Hey, is that sass I hear, Kogane? Don’t you insult my family’s arts and crafts bonding time. I _will_ fight you.” His tone is mostly playful, but there’s a small, subtle defensive edge to it, an edge of hardness in his eyes as he stares back at Keith.

“I’m not insulting it.” Keith says earnestly, feeling the need to make that clear. But he doesn’t know what possesses him to continue. “I think it’s— cute.” He tries to say it as casually as he can, like it isn’t a big deal because it’s _not_. It _is_ cute. He just hopes Lance doesn’t pick up on the small hitch in his voice.

Lance, however, purses his lips, completion darkening. His eyes widen a fraction, and Keith knows he wants to look away. Hell, _Keith_ wants to look away. But they can’t. Not yet. Instead, Lance composes himself, easing back into nonchalance and confidence. He shrugs. “It’s just practical. It’s a good way to keep the kids entertained and occupied. They have fun. I rock the bracelets. Everyone wins.”

The silence they lapse into is more suffocating this time around, but neither of them break eye contact until Shiro speaks.

“And that’s time.”

“Finally!” Lance tears his hands away from Keith’s, throwing his arms in the air and flopping backwards until he’s lying on the floor. “Can we _please_ move on to the actual dancing?”

Allura chuckles, and Shiro is smirking. Keith shoots them both a glare. “Yes, we’ll move on for now—“

“ _Thank you_.”

“—Go ahead and warm up properly so we can get started.”

Warming up and stretching is a casual affair. He does his best to ignore Lance for the moment, but he has an obnoxious habit of catching Keith’s eye. Stretching turns into no less than three contests for who’s the most flexible. It’s a silent agreement: eyes locking, Lance smirking as he leans a little further, Keith doing the same in response. They’re pretty even, but Keith is pretty sure he’s a little more flexible with his legs while Lance has an edge on him with his upper body. As soon as Allura catches wind of their silent contest, she easily beats them both.

And alright, so _maybe_ Keith can see why his brother is so intimidated by Allura. But come on. Anyone with _eyes_ can see the constant glances she sends his way, the casual touches, the soft smiles. Just another reason to kick Shiro’s ass.

“Alright,” Allura says as she steps up in front of Shiro, half turned to look at the two of them. “We’re going to demonstrate a dance for the two of you. It’s… a little more complicated than we usually go for with these lessons, but we think that given time, you can learn it. You’re both very talented dancers, and you both pick up dance styles fairly quickly. So even though this may be out of your comfort zone, we have faith that you’ll manage. Today, though, we’re going to start out small. We’ll teach you the dance in pieces, starting with the easy things while your synergy is still a little rocky, and eventually putting it all together.”

“Assuming, of course,” Shiro adds. “That you two agree to meet with us once a week for these lessons.”

“Assuming that, yes. Now we’ll show you what it’ll look like eventually, but try not to be too intimidated.” She gives them a quick wink. “Now if you would be so kind as to hit play?”

Keith has seen them dance hundreds of times before. It’s nothing new. He knows of their impeccable synergy, of their emotional and story telling style. It’s nothing like anything Keith has ever attempted. Probably because it requires a partner. And probably because it seems so… intimate. And despite knowing exactly what kind of style Shiro and Allura tend to dance, he had somewhat been in denial before this moment.

Now that he’s in this moment, he’s realizing that when Allura had said this might be out of their comfort zones, it had been the biggest understatement of the year.

He feels tense, and he _knows_ he’s tense. He’s watching with his arms crossed, fingers digging into his upper arms, trying to regulate his breathing. It’s hard when his heart can’t seem to decide whether it wants to live in his throat or drop down into his stomach. The song is an emotional one, and that sentiment is echoed in their expressions, in their touches, in the dramatic and heartfelt ways they throw their bodies and limbs around. The smiling Shiro and Allura are gone, and he feels like he’s been thrown into a story that clashes terribly with the reality they had just inhabited.

He’s barely paying attention to the details of the lifts and poses the two of them are going through. He’s too distracted by the shear closeness of it all. He really, really doesn’t want to think about doing that with Lance.

He doesn’t think he has a choice though.

When they’re done, they turn off the music and go through the first couple moves slowly. There’s nothing dramatic. No fancy lifts. No real action for him to focus on. Just… a lot of touching. And holding. And passionate expressions…

“So did you guys get all that?” Allura asks when they’re done. All in all, when it’s up to speed, it only takes a few seconds. To Keith, it feels like hours. She steps away from Shiro, smiling at the two of them with her hands on her hips.

Keith doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods stiffly.

Lance, on the other hand, has no problem voicing his concerns. “Yeaaaah, so, like, that looked great and all, but… are we supposed to do— _that_ — too?”

Allura raises one eyebrow. “And what exactly is _that_?”

Lance scratches the back of his neck, other hands waving vaguely. “You know, _that_. The looks and touches and everything.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But—“

“It’s a very important aspect to this dance style. You’re telling a story, and that requires you to focus on your partner. Expression is both on an individual level and a joint effort.”

“But— _why_?” An edge of desperation leaks into his voice, and at least Keith can take some comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one feeling hesitant about this. It may not be for the same reasons, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Because this style forces you to focus on your partner and what’s going on between you. Which is, coincidentally, the whole point of this exercise.” He and Allura stare at each other, eyes narrowed and lips set into firm lines. If it’s an intimidation battle, Keith knows Allura is going to win.

He takes the moment to send a pleading look to Shiro. He hasn’t explicitly _told_ his brother about his developing attraction. Hell, he doesn’t even like thinking about it himself. But that doesn’t stop him from silently begging his brother to help him. Shiro meets his gaze, and sends him a look that’s two parts sympathy and one part amusement.

“You’re doing this, Lance.” Allura says firmly. “This will be good for you two, and the lessons you learn here will transfer over to your own style. You _do_ want to do well at regionals, don’t you?”

Keith looks back to them in time to see Lance flinch. It’s a low blow, and they all know it. They also know it’s Allura’s biggest bargaining chip. Lance can’t argue with her logic, and Keith sees the moment he gives up. He gapes at her, mouth and jaw working as he tries to formulate a response. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and hikes his shoulders up to his ears, looking away as he mumbles, “Yes…”

And that’s how Keith finds himself a little too close to Lance for comfort. Shiro and Allura are next to them, demonstrating the moves and walking them through it. They go pose for pose as their two instructors hover around them, poking and prodding them until they’re doing it just right. Much to his dismay, they find themselves holding eye contact more often than not. As awkward as it is, it’s easier than trying to ignore each other all together. It’s _impossible_ to ignore each other when they’re this close. He tries to keep focused, his lips pressed into a firm line and his expression in check. He’s not sure if he pulls it of, though.

The only thing he’s sure of is that while Lance has his arm wrapped around his back and his other hand flat on Keith’s chest while he leans into his arms, he _knows_ that Lance can feel the rapid staccato of his heartbeat. He can feel it pounding against his chest, slamming against Lance’s touch. He tries to will it to stop, silently pleads with it. It doesn’t, of course. Not when Lance’s face is so close and they’re staring into each other’s eyes and how has he never noticed the faint freckles that scatter across his nose and cheeks just a shade darker than his skin?

They hold the pose, and Keith feels his legs starting to shake slightly, mostly from nerves but also from attempting to hold his own weight up while leaning so heavily into Lance’s embrace. He can feel Lance’s arm starting to shake behind him.

God fuck, why did he ever agree to this?

As he meets Lance’s gaze, steady and determined not to flinch away, he tries to convince himself that this is fine. Completely professional. He tries to convince himself that he’s definitely not attracted to Lance in the slightest. The slight upturn to his long nose isn’t cute at all. His sharp cheekbones are a generically pretty feature, but they’re just cheekbones. The determined fire in the blue depths of his irises isn’t anything to make his stomach flutter at. The way his lips smirk in self satisfaction, causing his eyes to crinkle whenever Shiro or Allura praises them is definitely not the reason for Keith’s breath to hitch.

Who the fuck is he kidding? Everything is _not_ fine.

At Allura’s insistence, they move into the next pose. Keith tilts his head back, grateful for an excuse to look away for a moment. The hand on his chest wraps around his back as Lance switches arms, and suddenly he’s being held close and lifted as he steps up. They half turn and stop, chest to chest. Lances hands are on his sides as his own hands move to the hold Lance’s head, fingers moving through the hair at the back of his neck, fingers splayed to feel the soft strands and warm flesh of his neck and face and jesus _fucking christ_ —

He’s going to _murder_ Shiro for choosing this dance. Or letting Allura choose this dance. He doesn’t care. He’ll murder them both.

“That’s good, keep going.” Allura says, gently tapped a beat on her thigh.

Lance lifts his face, and Keith tilts his back. His eyes close briefly as Lance’s nose runs across his throat, and he willfully ignores the shivers that run down his spine. Lance exhales and his breath is hot on Keith’s skin. Oh god, he can’t— he can’t fucking handle this.

“Your breath stinks,” He grumbles, proud when his voice doesn’t waver or crack. In fact, he sounds relatively normal, if not a little grumpy. He’ll take it.

He feels more than hears Lance snort. “Your mullet looks greasier up close.”

“You know the skin care routine you do in the morning?”

“What about it?”

“You missed a spot.”

Lance gasps loudly, abruptly leaning away from him. Their bodies are still close, but now Keith can see his face as he gaps at him, eyes wide. “ _Where?_ ”

He tries to remain casual as he makes a show of looking Lance’s face over, ignoring the fact that he’s still holding the guy’s head cradled in his hands. He can’t quite hold back his amused smirk. “No, wait, never mind. I was wrong.” Lance breaths a sigh of relief. “It’s just your face.”

Lance gasps again, removing a hand from Keith’s side to put it to his own chest. Then his face scrunches up as he lightly kicks Keith’s shoes. “Well _you_ keep stepping on my toes. It’s like you have two left feet.”

Keith holds his expression steady. “I’d prefer if I had two right feet.”

Lance eyes him suspiciously, one eyebrow raising slowly. “Why’s that?”

“Because then I’d be alright.”

Lance is quiet for a full two seconds, just looking Keith over. “Oh my god.” He throws back his head and laughs, in the end having to hold onto Keith to keep from falling over. Keith finds himself grinning. “Oh my god, _Keith_ , you made a joke!”

“I’ve been known to do that occasionally.” He tries to deadpan, but his smile is stubbornly in place.

“I _know_ , but it always catches me off guard!” Lance has recovered by now, and they’ve both stepped back from each other.

“If you two are finished?” They both turn to see Allura watching them, eyebrow and lips quirked in amusement. “And you were doing so well, too.”

“Right, right,”

“That’s supposed to be my line.”

“Oh my _god_ , Keith, _stop_.” Lance laughs, shoving him.

At Allura’s insistence, they go through several more moves. It’s mostly poses, close and personal. Allura reminds them to hold eye contact and to convey emotion with their expressions and body language, that it’s all about showing a connection between them. Luckily, Lance finds a way to make it a hell of a lot less awkward.

“Keith, it’s called exfoliating.” He says as he roughly rubs his hand down Keith’s cheek. “You should try it sometime.”

“Is that a zit I see forming?”

“Don’t even joke.”

“Who said I’m joking?”

“Keith, I will drop you right now.”

“What happened to promising you wouldn’t drop me?”

“You weigh a ton, Allura’s making us hold these poses for way too long, and you just insinuated that a zit got past my remarkable skin care regiment, don’t think I wouldn’t drop you in a heartbeat.” He heaves Keith up, spinning them around. “Seriously, dude, lay off the snack cakes.”

“Only when you lay off the milkshakes.”

There’s a moment where their faces are close, eyes locked. Allura is beside them, speaking softly as she guides them through it. Keith has mostly tuned her out. He gets the gist of what she’s saying anyway. They freeze at her insistence, and she and Shiro move around them, poking and prodding their arms and feet, adjusting their stances, telling Lance to lean his weight more heavily onto Keith, telling Keith how to hold himself to better distribute the weight. The whole time Lance is looking at him, faces so close that Keith can feel his breath on his cheeks, his nose, his lips—

“Your eyes are like an ocean,” Lance says, voice pitched low. His lips curve into a cocky smirk that has Keith’s toes curling. “And baby, I’m lost at sea.” And then he fucking _winks_.

He’s going to fucking kill him. Will he be disqualified from regionals if he breaks his partner’s nose?

Keith just stares at him blankly, then lifts his head to look at Shiro, who’s hovering beside them. “Can I drop him now?”

Shiro gives him an amused smile. “I’m honestly surprised you’re still holding onto him after that.”

“I’m afraid of Allura, to be honest.”

“That’s understandable. I would be, too.”

“I say drop him.” Allura cuts in.

“Allura, no!” Lance is laughing, wrapping his arms more firmly around Keith’s neck. “Keith, don’t drop meeeeee!” He whines between laughs, practically dead weighting and half wrapping a leg around Keith’s.

He’s lucky Keith had already adjusted his weight to balance better, but even still, he stumbles. “Lance, get off of me!” He puts a hand to his chest and one to his face, shoving. Lance just clings tighter.

“No! I’m your partner! You’re not supposed to drop me!”

“You deserve it!”

“Why you gotta be so ruuuuude!” He sings, wrapping his leg more firmly around him. Keith’s halfhearted struggles turn more forceful when he realizes that Lance isn’t moving. Lance notices the change and just latches on tighter.

“Holy shit, what is this grip? You’re worse than— oh my god, you’re going to choke me— you’re worse than Pidge!”

“They’re not the only ones who know how to koala someone!” And then suddenly all of Lance’s limbs are wrapped around him and he’s scrambling for purchase as Keith shoves at him. Pidge has climbed on him hundreds of times, but Lance has a lot more torso and a hell of a lot more limb than Pidge does. Pidge clings like a koala, but Lance is like a squid.

“Oh my god— Lance!— Let go, I swear to— Fuck! Shiro, help me!”

“Sorry, little bro, you’re on your own.” There’s laughter in Shiro’s voice and Keith spares him a quick glare.

“Ha _HA!_ ” Lance has somehow managed to scramble and shift his body around Keith’s side. He’s kicked and elbowed, and honestly he’s not sure how he’s still standing.

“Why must you both be this way?” Allura sighs, shaking her head, but there’s no real annoyance in her voice.

“You wanted synergy, Allura!” Lance says, fixing himself onto Keith’s back. He settles with his arms around his neck and legs wrapped firmly around his waist, ankles locked. “This _is_ our synergy. Our spark! Right, Keith?”

“No.”

He plants his hands on Keith’s shoulders, shaking them by rocking his body back and forth. “Keeeeeith! Don’t deny our spark, man!”

“I’m denying it, now stop that before we—“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Lance’s rocking gets out of hand and throws Keith off balance. They both topple over backwards. Keith lands on top of Lance, and he hears the loud _oomph_ as the air rushes out of his lungs, followed by a groan. Keith echoes it.

“I feel like I’m having deja vu.” Lance mumbles beneath him.

“You don’t say,” Keith mumbles dryly, sitting up as Lance shoves his back.

“Nevertheless.” Allura says, holding out a hand to help Keith to his feet. “Shall we get back to our lesson on practicing a different kind of synergy?”

“Yeah, okay.” Keith says sheepishly, unable to meet her eyes.

“I guess,” Lance says as Shiro helps him to his feet. He even manages to sound a little abashed.

“Excellent.”

The next thirty minutes or so are dedicated to learning a simple lift. There are some arguments at the beginning, mostly on Lance’s part, about who would be doing the lifting. Lance is insistent that he should do the lifting. He says he wanted to do a pseudo lift in their audition song but everyone shut him down. Keith fights back, a little for the matter of principle, a little because Lance is getting on his nerves, but mostly because arguing with Lance brings about a sense of familiarity that’s comforting when they’re forced into such unfamiliar and uncomfortable close proximity.

In the end, when Shiro finally manages to get a word in edgewise, he tells them that he and Allura had actually planned for Keith to be doing this particular lift. Keith doesn’t say anything as Lance sputters, but makes sure he can see his triumphant smirk.

He’s grateful, mostly because he thinks being in Lance’s arms would be a hell of a lot worse than having Lance in his.

Turns out he’s wrong. It’s pretty bad either way.

They start out a little rocky. Lance is jittery and nervous about trusting Keith to lift him, and it makes him too stiff. This, in turn, makes _Keith_ nervous. He’s not used to lifting another’s weight like this, keeping it fluid and in time with the music. He’s, more or less, in complete control of the lift. Luckily, he’s nothing if not persistent. And he’s no stranger to consistent training to drill new things into muscle memory. So he grits his teeth, mostly ignores Lance’s nervous jabs, and concentrates on improving.

It’s mostly Shiro who walks him through it, giving tips and advice for lifting. He pays close attention, barely listening to Allura doing the same for Lance. When they try it over and over and over again, Keith hears his brother’s advice, pays attention to how his body is moving, how Lance’s body is reacting to his. After a while, Lance relaxes and actually starts to take it seriously. After that point, they improve quickly.

He can feel the familiar trickle of self pride when they actually start to get it without faltering. It’s still somewhat stiff and shaky, and they’re not nearly as fluid and graceful as Shiro and Allura, but they’re getting it. He can see the pride radiating off his brother’s smiling face, see it in Allura’s eyes. Even Lance has cut the jokes and jabs out, concentrating fully. Keith has no doubt it’s in reaction to his own sudden focus. Lance can be just as stubborn as him, especially when he get it in his head that Keith is trying to “one up him” or whatever.

Keith can’t complain too much. He likes the way his jaw is set and his eyes flare with single minded determination.

Whatever the reason, Keith is grateful for the moderate silence and focus. It makes it a lot easier to ignore the fact that his hands are all over Lance, that he’s been holding him in his arms for however long now. It’s easy to forget when they’re like this: laser focused, determined, and stubborn. It took them long enough to get to this point, but now that they’re here, Keith feels like they’re finally getting somewhere.

“Alright, so now that we’ve shown you how that particular lift fits in with the other moves we’ve taught you, why don’t we try putting it all together with the music?”

Keith nods wordlessly and steps up to Lance, who’s already stepping in close to take up their starting position. He has a leg stretched out, using it as a balancing point as his other knee is bent, toe pointed and leg at the angle Allura taught him. Both legs are to one side of Keith as he leans forward in a lunge. One arm is wrapped around Lance’s back, holding him up with his other arm is out to the side in a gesture that Shiro insisted on. It’s somewhat difficult to hold the pose with one arm, but once the music is going and they’re moving and shifting their weight, it’s not so bad. One of Lance’s hands is loosely on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his neck.

They’re close, and it’s an intimate position that Keith hasn’t had time to think too much about while they were working through everything. But now, while they hold their positions as Shiro shuffles through his phone for the music, Keith thinks about it.

He let’s himself indulge in it, if only for a moment. He thinks about how much he likes this angle and the feel of Lance’s hands on him. He likes how Lance is relaxed and loose as he hangs under him, completely at his mercy but utterly trusting and without a sense of hesitation. He thinks, if only for a moment, how lucky he is to have gotten an attractive dance partner, even if his personality could use improvement. He thinks about how grateful he is that they have dancing as an excuse to be close like this, to explore their physical chemistry without any strings attached. Because as much as he hates to admit it, they _do_ have a physical chemistry. One that makes dancing with Lance so much more enjoyable than he would have ever imagined. He thinks that might be what’s been messing him up. Acknowledging their dance floor chemistry and Lance’s objective attractiveness has muddled his brain. He can accept that they’re just this. They’re not very compatable otherwise anyway. But if he’s going to accept that they’re just _this_ , then he can at least let himself enjoy it, right?

As they wait, suspended in animation as they wait for the music to start, he stares into Lance’s eyes, still set and hard with that focused fire that Keith finds himself drawn to. Then his lips quirk up at the corners in the shadow of a smirk, his head tilting just every so slightly as that familiar cocky and confident look enters his eyes. “Try not to drop me, mullet.” His voice is soft, playful, and teasing, with no actual edge to it.

Some crackling is faint over the speakers, but it’s not what he remembers from what Shiro and Allura danced to earlier, so he doesn’t bother moving yet. “ _Percussion…_ ”

Keith finds himself mirroring his expression. “No promises, princess.”

 _”Strings…”_ He thought that was Shiro whispering to Allura, but that’s definitely not Shiro’s voice…

“So you finally admit I’m royalty.”

“ _Winds…_ ”

“A royal pain in the ass maybe.”

“ _Words…_ ”

Lance chuckles at that, and Keith can feel the brief puffs of air on his cheeks.

“ _There you see her, sitting there across the way…”_ Okay, that’s definitely music playing now, but it’s definitely not what they were dancing to earlier. Keith wants to look up, to see what’s going on, but he doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because Allura instructed him to hold the pose until he heard the song start and she gave the go ahead to start moving. It’s not because Lance’s eyes are crinkling at the edges when he grins.

“You can call me _your majesty_.”

“Not on your life.”

 _”She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her…”_ Keith is only listening to the lyrics with half an ear, but something is tickling the edges of his memory. Where has he heard this song before?

Lance doesn’t seem to be paying attention to it, but it’s nagging Keith insistently. “Better be careful, Sir Keith, or this princess is going to have your ass thrown into the dungeon.”

 _”And you don’t know why, but you’re dying to try—“_ Keith’s eyes widen, heart dropping so quickly he feels vertigo as he recognizes the song— “ _You wanna kiss the girl._ ”

Keith’s head snaps up so fast that there’s a flash of pain, but he ignores it. His eyes lock onto Shiro’s, who’s smiling innocently but the amusement in his eyes betray him. Keith stares at him, and he _knows_ his mouth is hanging open in horror. Keith doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though, because his arms have gone slack and he’s dropped Lance without a second thought. In the sudden surge of blind panic, he doesn’t even notice Lance isn’t there anymore until he hears the surprised yelp.

It brings his attention back to Lance, who’s lying on the floor, propped up on an elbow and rubbing the back of his head, expression contorted into one of annoyance and pain. “Keith, what the _fuck?_ ”

Keith winces. He’s going to fucking _kill_ Shiro. “Oh my god, Lance— fuck— I’m so sorry.” He says, words in a rush as he scrambles to reach down to help Lance to his feet.

Lance glares at him, and for a second Keith thinks he won’t take his hand. But as his eyes roam Keith’s face, the edge to his anger fades. Keith doesn’t want to think about what his expression looks like right now. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his face feels like it’s on fire. Lance takes his hand, and Keith pulls him to his feet.

“What the hell was that?” He doesn’t sound angry, just disgruntled, which Keith takes as a good sign.

“I’m sorry— fuck, I didn’t mean to. I just got distracted, and— _Shiro_.” Keith snaps, turning to glare at his brother and hoping to divert the attention away from himself.

Shiro holds up his hands. “Sorry, must have accidentally hit play on a song while I was searching for the right one.” It _sounds_ innocent enough, and like a logical excuse, but Keith isn’t buying it. He has seen that spark of amusement.

“Shiro, that song isn’t even in the same playlist.” Allura says, sounding just as confused as Lance looks. Luckily, said song isn’t still playing. Shiro had cut it off shortly after Keith had dropped Lance.

Shiro rubs the back of his neck, eyes on his phone. “Yeah, I don’t know how that happened. I must not have been paying attention.”

“What song was even playing?” Lance asks. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Nothing!” Keith snaps, a little too loudly. His face is still warm, and he hates it. He purses his lips tight, trying to refocus and let his embarrassment _go_ as he holds out his arms for Lance. “Let’s just… do this, alright?” He spares a sharp glance toward Shiro. “And do it _right_ this time.”

Keith is expecting Lance to hesitate. After all, who wouldn’t after just being dropped without explanation? But to his extreme surprise, he doesn’t. Lance steps right up to him and takes up the same position they had been in before, body lax and languid in Keith’s arms. The obvious trust in that gesture does nothing to keep his blush down.

“For real this time, try not to drop me.” Lance says, and while it’s gruff, there’s a playful edge to it.

Keith sighs. “I’m not going— look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to.” He hesitates, subconsciously bitting his bottom lip. “You’re not— are you alright?”

Lance seems surprised by that, but then his lips quirk into a smile and he shrugs. “Yeah, no problem. My _Lita_ always said I have a hard head. No harm done.”

Keith smiles at that, small and sincere. “Good.”

This time the right music plays, and all jokes are set aside as they focus. The first run through is shaky. They haven’t done it to music and staying on top of the beat while going through moves they’ve just learned is tricky. Allura has them go through it several more times, and each time there’s significant improvement. Keith realizes that he doesn’t even have to think about the whole staring thing. The moves themselves give off half of the emotion they need to portray in and of themselves, and he finds the rest comes easily enough when they’re in the moment. Especially when they’re both determined to make the most of this.

Without words, they seem to have come to an agreement that despite how uncomfortable it can be, Shiro and Allura think this will be good for them, and they both trust them. And he has to admit… now that they’re actually dancing and they’ve been in each other’s personal bubble for a while now, it’s not so bad. It’s actually kind of fun. Despite everything, he and Lance _do_ work well together. Their bodies sync up well. Maybe these lessons really will be good for them after all.

Plus… it gives him an excuse to be close to Lance without the pressure that would be there otherwise. Maybe this will help him get over everything. Maybe it’ll get him used to the whole ‘lance is attractive’ thing without letting it develop into anything else. Better to let himself indulge in the physicality of it, in their dance chemistry, and just focus on being friends.

He supposes he should be a _little_ grateful to his brother for suggesting this.

But he’s still going to kick his ass.

 

* * *

 

Shiro sits on the ground legs outstretched and spread, feet against Allura’s. Her hands are in his, soft and delicate but still strong and firm. He’s leaning back, pulling her forward as far as she can go to help her stretch. And damn, can she go far. He tries not to think too hard about her leaning toward and over his lower body, and luckily, her face is turned away from him, focused instead on their students.

“It took a while, but I think they ended up doing quite well.” She says softly, just for him.

He hums, taking the distraction and looking over to where Lance and Keith are goofing off. He feels his lips quirk into a small, fond smile. “Yeah, but we knew they’d be difficult. I’m honestly surprised they pulled themselves together as quickly as they did. I expected it would take more lessons.”

“I had faith in them. They’re both very determined and very talented. As long as they can stop overthinking things and let their natural compatibility flow, they’ll do fine. I can see improvement in their synergy already.”

“I do, too. Though it was quite an… experience, to say the least.”

“At least they’re amusing.”

“They are that.”

Allura leans back, pulling Shiro forward. He feels the stretch in his legs and breathes a small sigh of relief. “With some proper training, they could actually be really good with this style of dancing.” She says thoughtfully. He looks up to see the spark in her eyes, and smiles kindly, chuckling.

“As much as I believe that’s true, I doubt they’ll stick with it. Not to say they’ll never dance like this again, but I think they’re too fond of other styles.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Allura hums. “Do you think they have the energy to go through it again—“

“NEVER LET GO, JACK!” Lance’s shout cuts her off, drawing both of their attention.

The two are standing in what can only be described as the typical Titanic pose: Lance on the balls of his feet, leaning forward with his arms held out to the sides. Keith is behind him, arms around his waist and holding him up. They had decided to take a break, and while Allura and Shiro stretched, Lance and Keith had been playing around with various poses and lifts. Shiro thinks he might have heard something about ‘I bet I trust you more’ and ‘you’re on.’

Keith leans in close to Lance, a teasing smirk slowly curling his lips as he hovers just behind Lance’s ear. It’s a strangely intimate position, one that he isn’t expecting his brother to put himself into. But there’s a wicked glint to Keith’s eyes as he pauses, drawing out the moment. Shiro can see Lance’s expression waver, the blush spreading across his cheeks as his eyes widen just slightly.

Then Keith breaks the silence. “Drown in hell, bitch.” And then he drops Lance.

Lance hits the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees, but he’s laughing too hard to hold the position. He rolls over onto his back, one arm resting on his stomach as the other splays over his face. Keith is laughing too, arms wrapped around his middle as he doubles over, eyes squeezed shut.

Lance flops around on the floor, bellowing out accusations about being betrayed and an icy death between laughs. It’s dramatic enough that Shiro finds himself grinning. Keith can’t even respond, having been thrown into another fit of laughter. He’s distracted and doesn’t see the moment Lance lunches for his legs, knocking him over. Lance crawls on him as Keith attempts to push him off, crying out, “Drown with me, you watery twat!”

His brother has a nice laugh, and it’s a shame he doesn’t do it more often. Though he’s heard it a lot more since he started hanging out with Lance and the rest of them. This whole duo thing has been good for him in more ways than one, and Shiro will make sure to gloat about it some other time.

It’s later, after practice, when the two of them are stretching out, that he asks, “So, will the two of you be joining us next week?”

They pause, turning to look at him. Lance is lying on his back and Keith is standing over him, Lance’s leg stretched out and in his hand as Keith pushes it back to help him stretch.

“Your synergy has already improved greatly,” Allura adds with a smile, “Imagine what you two can accomplish after a month.”

They exchange looks, something silent passing between them, and after a moment, Lance shrugs. “As long as butter fingers over here doesn’t drop me again, I’m down.” Keith glares, lips pursing into a small frown as he leans forward, pushing Lance’s leg further. Lance half yelps and half laughs, hands smacking the floor next to him. “Keith! Keith, buddy, I’m sorry! Stop! Oh my god, you’re going to break my leg!”

Allura leans close to him then, her breath dancing across his ear and sending shivers down his spine. “Do you think those two will be okay?”

He sees the slight smirk on Keith’s lips, the wide grin on Lance’s, and he smiles. “Yeah,” He says softly. “They’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance Shiro and Allura are teaching them for synergy building is loosely based on this [Unsteady - X Ambassadors](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/155812443191) video
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, please go reblog this beautiful art from the artists herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/155813626854/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-7-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	8. Shut Up and Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **coo coo motherfuckers** : MATT GOT A GIG AT BALMERA STARTING THIS WEEKEND  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : GUESS WHAT SQUAD IS GOING CLUBBING SATURDAY TO SUPPORT MY BROTHER’S FIRST DAY ON THE JOB  
>  **vive la lance** : oh  
>  **vive la lance** : oh my goD  
>  **vive la lance** : OH MY GOD  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : there’s my hype man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was halfway written when the last update happened, and I really wanted to finish it before season 2 drops, so after blood, sweat, and plenty of tears, here we are! With a 22k word monster for you all to read! This is the longest SUADWM chapter to date, which I guess is fitting for the "namesake" chapter, as I like to call it. I'm very happy with how this chapter turned out, so I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> And happy season 2, guys!

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Spit-Roasted Squad”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : ALRIGHT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I need to know who’s here  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so roll call time  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sound off nerds  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’ll start: pidge  
**uptown hunk** : hunk :3c  
**fuck off** : uh keith  
**vive la lance** : lance aka the man of your dreams ;)  
**fuck off** : more like nightmares  
**vive la lance** : you know what keiTH???  
**vive la lance** : youre absolutely right  
**fuck off** : …  
**fuck off** : I am?  
**vive la lance** : yeah  
**vive la lance** : this level of perfection is frightening  
**fuck off** : amazing  
**vive la lance** : thank you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : alright so tweedle dee and tweedle dum are here got it  
**fuck off** : dibs on tweedle dee  
**vive la lance** : whAT??  
**vive la lance** : nO!  
**vive la lance** : you’re totALLY tweedle dumb  
**fuck off** : and why is that?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s just going to say it’s cause you’re dumb  
**vive la lance** : because I make you speechless ;)  
**fuck off** : I  
**uptown hunk** : :O  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …wow  
**fuck off** : yeah  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m actually a little impressed  
**fuck off** : I actually have nothing to say to that  
**vive la lance** : HA!  
**fuck off** : I’m just so surprised you made an intelligent joke  
**vive la lance** : you know Im sensing some sass over there  
**vive la lance** : but Im going to ignore it in favor of the compliment  
**fuck off** : do what you gotta do to make yourself feel better  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ANYWAY  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : can you two stop clogging up the chat long enough for me to figure out if the others are here?  
**fuck off** : you’re not my mom  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith I will beat your ass  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know where you live  
**fuck off** : bring it munchkin  
**fuck off** : I put out the mousetraps  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I will murder your kneecaps  
**fuck off** : I’ll stand on the table  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I will climb up that bean pole physique to punch you in the jaw  
**vive la lance** : figHT FIGHT FIGHT  
**fuck off** : I’ll sit on you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : biTCh  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you weight like tWO POUNDS  
**vive la lance** : not to be a buzzkill cause you know I love a good ol fashions pidge/keith beat down  
**vive la lance** : but keith is a heavy af fat ass  
**vive la lance** : can confirm  
**fuck off** : just because yOU have the upper body strength of a diseased hamster  
**vive la lance** : excuSE  
**uptown hunk** : so, like, you guys know I love you, and I love all your shenanigans, but I’ve got a paper I need to write and a LOT of research to do for it  
**uptown hunk** : so can we like, hurry this along?  
**vive la lance** : sorry buddy  
**uptown hunk** : no problem, dude :3c  
**vive la lance** : <3  
**uptown hunk** : <33  
**fuck off** : what’d you need pidge?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : right  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : where are the more adult-y adults?  
**fuck off** : pretty sure shiro is working at the museum  
**uptown hunk** : probably allura too then, cause they usually try to line up their schedules  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : -COUGH- BASICALLY MARRIED -COUGH-  
**fuck off** : basically  
**vive la lance** : amen  
**uptown hunk** : I think it’s cute :3  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you would, you big softie  
**uptown hunk** : I can’t help it D:  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you don’t need to help it, you’re perfect, hunk  
**uptown hunk** : awwww  
**uptown hunk** : I already told you I’m not making cookies tonight  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : worth a shot  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so what about coran?  
**vive la lance** : hes probs still at the studio  
**vive la lance** : dudes there all day  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah but he usually checks his phone for messages, especially when he’s got downtime in the office  
**vive la lance** : its monday right?  
**uptown hunk** : yup, and this paper, by the way, is due friday  
**uptown hunk** : and pidge is in this class, too  
**uptown hunk** : so I know they should be working right now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re not my mom  
**uptown hunk** : no work, no cookies  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …. fuck  
**vive la lance** : pretty sure corans got some classes today  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : godDAMMIT  
**fuck off** : what’d you want to tell us?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t now >:(  
**fuck off** : ?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’ve all gotta be here when I make the announcement  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : otherwise there won’t be the proper mix of excitement and peer pressure  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : plus it’ll just get lose by your constant blathering and I can’t be assed to get excited twice  
**uptown hunk** : alright so is this meeting done then?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : postponed until further notice  
**uptown hunk** : alright, wanna meet in the living room to cross examine sources?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sounds good  
**vive la lance** : great now that the nerds are gone we can talk about cool things  
**vive la lance** : hows it going keith?  
**fuck off** : I’m out  
**vive la lance** : KEITH NO WAIT  
**fuck off** : what?  
**vive la lance** : Im bored :(  
**fuck off** : not my problem  
**vive la lance** : why are you always so rude  
**vive la lance** : shiro didnt raise you this way  
**fuck off** : shiro once told me that if I ate enough spiders I could absorb their power and be like spiderman  
**vive la lance** : … wow  
**vive la lance** : how many spiders did you eat?  
**fuck off** : I don’t want to talk about it  
**vive la lance** : was it upwards of ten?  
**fuck off** : I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT  
**vive la lance** : alright alright  
**vive la lance** : but dont think Im gonna let you forget about this  
**fuck off** : wouldn’t dream of it  
**vive la lance** : cool  
**vive la lance** : so you doing anything?  
**fuck off** : not really  
**vive la lance** : wanna play games?  
**fuck off** : yeah sure

 

* * *

 

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Spit-Roasted Squad”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : ALRIGHT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : TAKE TWO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : SOUND OFF NERDS  
**vive la lance** : ONE B)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : two! 8{D  
**uptown hunk** : three ;3c  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : … alright I’ve waited long enough  
**uptown hunk** : you’ve literally waited two minutes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : two minutes is an eternity in Pidge Time™  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : where are the others?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : shiro? allura? keith?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ping ping motherfuckers  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I swear if you’re all at the gym again…  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I believe Allura has a shift at the museum tonight!  
**vive la lance** : and you know that means she does  
**vive la lance** : cause my man coran has that crazy knack for remembering schedules  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Thank you, Lance!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Tonight isn’t apart of her normal schedule, however.  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : From what I remember her calling out before she dashed out of the apartment, they were short staffed at the museum tonight so she had to rush over for a closing shift.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : uuuuuugh  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Sorry, Pidge 8(  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dare I even ask where the others are?  
**uptown hunk** : I have no idea D:  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Nor do I  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hmmm  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : two secs  
**uptown hunk** : what’re you going to do?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : text matt  
**uptown hunk** : and??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : UGH  
**uptown hunk** : I take that as no luck?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s not answering me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that nerd is pretty much glued to his phone 24/7  
**vive la lance** : you mean like you?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what can I say?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the family resemblance is strong  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : In that case, if he’s so glued to his phone, should you worry?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nah  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I mean, probably not  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : neither of them are answering, and typically that means they’re having Bro Time™  
**vive la lance** : pffff old man Bro Time™  
**uptown hunk** : hey man, don’t diss the importance of Bro Time™ :(  
**vive la lance** : youre right  
**vive la lance** : Im sorry for bringing dishonor to bros everywhere  
**uptown hunk** : it’s okay, I forgive you bro :’)  
**vive la lance** : bro :’)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : god you two are so gay  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : just like matt and shiro  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : jesus why is everyone around me so gay  
**vive la lance** : we flock to each other  
**uptown hunk** : pidge, I’ve seen you with keith  
**uptown hunk** : you guys are pretty gay too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : all bromo, no romo  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but I’m with lance, they’re probably doing old man Bro Time™  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : they lock themselves in their apartment, no phones, no girlfriends or boyfriends, and play idk uno or something  
**vive la lance** : sounds riveting  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Indeed! Sounds like a roaring good time!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Just dudes being dudes  
**vive la lance** : omg coran  
**vive la lance** : did you just like half meme?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : B)  
**vive la lance** : Im just… so proud :’)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : speaking of keith  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : where is that fucknut?  
**vive la lance** : hes at work  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …  
**vive la lance** : what?  
**uptown hunk** : ……  
**vive la lance** : whAT??  
**uptown hunk** : that just had like… no hesitation  
**vive la lance** : so???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so how do you know with complete certainty what keith is doing right now??  
**vive la lance** : hold up

 **vive la lance** has sent an image

 **uptown hunk** : awww  
**uptown hunk** : he looks so pissed :’)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nah that’s just his face  
**fuck off** : rude  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nice of you to join us  
**fuck off** : I just wanted to say that lance took that without my consent  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you don’t say  
**uptown hunk** : I couldn’t tell from the glare you’re giving the camera  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : or how you’re flipping it off  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Visually, it’s a very endearing contrast between Keith’s sour look and Lance’s smile, not to mention Keith’s crude gesture and Lance’s peace sign  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : A wonderful selfie, I say  
**uptown hunk** : seconded  
**vive la lance** : thanks coran  
**fuck off** : fuck off  
**vive la lance** : Im going to start a photo collection called “Times I Surprised Keith and He Looked Stupid”  
**fuck off** : I hate you  
**vive la lance** : yeah sure  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : we can really feel the hate between you two  
**uptown hunk** : I, for one, only visit my mortal enemies at work  
**vive la lance** : hunk  
**vive la lance** : dont do me like this  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : why ARE you at the bookstore, anyway?  
**uptown hunk** : who are you and what have you done with lance?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I feel we should be questioning what Keith had done to Lance  
**uptown hunk** : good point, coran  
**uptown hunk** : keith, whatever you’re doing to lance, it scares me but I think it’s for the best  
**fuck off** : it’s not an easy job  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t imagine it would be  
**uptown hunk** : do you even KNOW how long I’ve been trying to get him to read?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : years  
**uptown hunk** : YEARS, man!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and now he’s been in a book store twice  
**vive la lance** : Im not sure whether I should be offended or not  
**fuck off** : it’s always a safe bet to assume we’re insulting you  
**vive la lance** : keith go back to shelving  
**vive la lance** : and for your informATION Im here because leo has turned into a book devouring BEAST and needed more books  
**fuck off** : he reads faster than lance  
**vive la lance** : THATS NOT FAIR HE HAS MORE TIME  
**uptown hunk** : leo’s always been my favorite  
**vive la lance** : huuuuunk D:  
**uptown hunk** : besides you, Lance  
**vive la lance** : awww <3  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : leo has a lot of potential…  
**vive la lance** : pidge  
**vive la lance** : dont  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : don’t what, lance?  
**vive la lance** : I see you plotting in that ellipsis  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I would never  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I just see them as my own younger siblings  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : It wouldn’t hurt to take them under my wing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : look at how lovely sophie turned out?  
**vive la lance** : SOPHIE IS A DEMON  
 **vive la lance:** SHE THREATENED TO BREAK MY TOES WHEN ALL I DID WAS TICKLE HER  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : she makes me proud  
**vive la lance** : shes been tainted but yOU LEAVE LEO ALONE  
**fuck off** : he’s like a small version of lance  
**vive la lance** : thank you he makes me proud  
**fuck off** : only more cultured and polite  
**vive la lance** : shouldnt you be working???  
**fuck off** : I am  
**vive la lance** : no youre not!!  
**vive la lance** : put your phone away!  
**fuck off** : make me;adoijwaven  
**fuck off** : my name is keithad;kJ and I herebyadflkja make lance my official spokesman for the group chat while Im working  
**vive la lance** : awesome thank you keith Im so honored  
**fuck off** : no problem lance youre just the most handsome and charming and funny and qualified person for the job  
**vive la lance** : I know B)  
**fuck off** : -swoon-  
**vive la lance** : -finger guns-  
**fuck off** : oh laaaance, you’re so coooool!  
**vive la lance** : glad youre finally coming around B)  
**uptown hunk** : yeaaaaaah, so I’m going to just leave the group chat for a while, I’ve got, uh, stuff to do  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I’m already ahead of you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : same, I don’t need to sit here and watch lance talk to himself  
**vive la lance** : okay okay but for real keith wants to know what your announcement was pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nope, the moment is passed and we’re missing our parents  
**vive la lance** : boo you whore  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : go ask keith about the time he thought he was secretly dating mothman  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**vive la lance** : I am so on it

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Spit-Roasted Squad”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : it’s been abnormally quiet here  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dare I ask if everyone is here?  
**uptown hunk** : I am!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Present!  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’m here :)  
**Need-A-Hand** : What’s up, Pidge?  
**fuck off** : are you still trying to make that announcement?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so far all my attempts have been thwarted  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : “Thwarted” is such a lovely and underused word  
**uptown hunk** : agreed, petition to use the word thwarted more  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Petition signed 8{D  
**uptown hunk** : 8D  
**LLunarGoddess** : what announcement is this? :o  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Young Pidge here has been attempting to gather all of us at once to make some sort of announcement  
**uptown hunk** : yeah, you’ve been gone both times  
**fuck off** : shiro was gone too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah someone is always missing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : getting you all together at the same time is surprisingly difficult  
**Need-A-Hand** : I wouldn’t think it would be that hard  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : laws of the universe, shiro  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I want you all together therefore it’s going to be as difficult as possible  
**uptown hunk** : cold hard truth  
**fuck off** : can’t be helped  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Proven fact  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh :o well I’m here now!  
**Need-A-Hand** : Same :) I’d be glad to hear your announcement, Pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : thaNK yOU  
**fuck off** : we told you before that we were willing to listen  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah but you weren’t all here  
**fuck off** : you still could’ve told us  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and I told yOU that I need everyone present to A, keep from repeating myself, and B, use the group hype and peer pressure against sticks in the mud like you  
**fuck off** : …  
**fuck off** : I change my mind, I don’t want to hear this announcement  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : too late  
**fuck off** : I can leave  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you won’t  
**fuck off** : try me, short stuff  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, behave and let Pidge speak  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : thanks, dad  
**Need-A-Hand** : don’t call me dad  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dad  
**fuck off** : dad  
**uptown hunk** : dad  
**LLunarGoddess** : dad  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** Dad ;)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ….  
**fuck off** : nope  
**uptown hunk** : yeaaaaah  
**LLunarGoddess** : what?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, it’s weird when you two say it  
**LLunarGoddess** : who?  
**uptown hunk** : you and coran  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : >:(  
**Need-A-Hand** : ANYWAY  
**Need-A-Hand** : Does this have anything to do with what Matt won’t tell me because, and I quote  
**Need-A-Hand** : “If I tell you first, Pidge will kill me mercilessly and without remorse and probably with a blunt, easily disposable object, so until then I’m keeping my hype to myself”  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : good to know he’s abiding by my threats  
**LLunarGoddess** : so what’s going on, Pidge?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Does this have anything to do with yours and Hunk’s duo performance?  
**uptown hunk** : I hope not  
**uptown hunk** : I haven’t heard anything :O  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no, it has nothing to do with that  
**uptown hunk** : what about the robotics project you’ve been working on for grad school?? :O  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nope, Rover is unfortunately not functional yet  
**uptown hunk** : dangit  
**Need-A-Hand** : You had a break through with your TA work?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh hell no  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : those idiots are hopeless  
**LLunarGoddess** : is this a family related announcement?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sort of?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : when did this turn into a guessing game?  
**LLunarGoddess** : since we started asking questions and you started answering :)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : of course  
**fuck off** : have you heard more chatter through the radio??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : unfortunately negative  
**fuck off** : dammit  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul:** Radio chatter?  
**fuck off** : pidge is monitoring for alien activity  
**Need-A-Hand** : … Are they now?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : don’t patronize me, dad  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Fascinating  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Might I ask what frequencies you’re using? And the medium for amplifying your signal receiver?  
**uptown hunk** : uh, not to interrupt, but we’re kind of forgetting someone…  
**Need-A-Hand** : Oh…  
**LLunarGoddess** : oops :O  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : oh drat  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I knew it was too silent in this chat earlier  
**fuck off** : nope, sorry, I’m drawing a blank  
**uptown hunk** : lance  
**fuck off** : doesn’t ring a bell  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : where is he anyway?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s like, always glued to his phone when he’s at home  
**uptown hunk** : I’m not sure, I haven’t heard from him all day  
**fuck off** : maybe he’s been reading  
**uptown hunk** : ….  
**uptown hunk** : you know, I might have once poke fun at him for that, but now it might be a possibility  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hunk’s right, it’s not as fun anymore  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’m so proud of him :)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : He’s grown so much  
**Need-A-Hand** : You’ve been a good influence on him, Keith :)  
**vive la lance** : yo I got a ping whats up  
**vive la lance** : and make it quick Im on a time crunch  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge wants to make an announcement  
**vive la lance** : oh shit that one theyve been talking about for like two days?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Apparently  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lance, it’s very important that you’re here for this announcement  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you got time? I need you committed  
**fuck off** : why is lance so important?  
**vive la lance** : jealous much? ;)  
**fuck off** : in your dreams  
**vive la lance** : in my dreams youre doing an interpretive dance to my greatness  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m curious, too. Why is Lance so important to the announcement?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s my main hype man  
**vive la lance** : aw yeah  
**uptown hunk** : he’s very good at that  
**fuck off** : I definitely don’t want to know now  
**vive la lance** : shut your trap mullet  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Well, now that we’re all here, shall we commence with the announcement?  
**vive la lance** : no can do  
**vive la lance** : raincheck  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : whY??  
**vive la lance** : pidge if you want me to do you any justice as your hype man youll call a raincheck  
**vive la lance** : I dont have time to devote the time and energy that you deserve atm  
**uptown hunk** : what’s going on, dude?  
**vive la lance** : I may or may not be hiding in a closet right now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh boy  
**uptown hunk** : dude  
**vive la lance** : NOT LIKE THAT  
**vive la lance** : I am LITERALLY hiding in a closet  
**vive la lance** : because SOMEONE pinged me and I needed a safe place to hide  
**LLunarGoddess** : umm  
**fuck off** : I feel like I’m missing something  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance, what’s going on?  
**vive la lance** : dont go all dad on me shiro  
**vive la lance** : Im babysitting  
**LLunarGoddess** : I don’t mean to question your methods, Lance, but…  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : From a closet?  
**vive la lance** : its not what it looks like  
**vive la lance** : Im watching the younger 4  
**uptown hunk** : aren’t there a younger 5?  
**vive la lance** : yeah but little oli is still with his mom  
**vive la lance** : its just the 4  
**fuck off** : I’m still trying to figure out how the closet fits into this  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I hope leo and sophie locked you in there  
**vive la lance** : pffff not a chance  
**vive la lance** : were in the middle of war  
**vive la lance** : NERF WAR  
**uptown hunk** :O !!!!  
**LLunarGoddess** : as in nerf guns?  
**vive la lance** : and all other nerf accessories  
**vive la lance** : leo has a bow and arrow and abbi has a slingshot  
**LLunarGoddess** : you sound like an amazing babysitter, Lance :)  
**vive la lance** : thanks babe B)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Wish we had those back in my day. We used actual slingshots, sticks, and paintball guns  
**Need-A-Hand** : In the house?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : B)  
**vive la lance** : damn coran you go hard  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Thank you, Lance… I think  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so leo and sophie basically got you pinned down?  
**vive la lance** : pfff no not even  
**vive la lance** : they dont even know I’m here  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I could text them  
**vive la lance** : DON’T YOU DARE  
**fuck off** : are you losing to a bunch of kids?  
**vive la lance** : IT’S FOUR AGAINST ONE KEITH  
**vive la lance** : THE LITTLE ONES HAVE NO MERCY AND THE BIGGER ONES ARE SNEAKY  
**fuck off** : I am so disappointed in you rn  
**vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : I see how you and shiro are siblings now  
**vive la lance** : HUNK  
**vive la lance** : YOU BUSY BUDDY??  
**uptown hunk** : not at the moment, I just finished my homework and Pidge is at the library  
**uptown hunk** : probably procrastinating on their essay because they started this conversation :/  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re not my mom, hunk  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh god look what you’ve done  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO REPREMAND PIDGE LATER  
**vive la lance** : HUNK I NEED YOU BUDDY  
**vive la lance** : BE MY BACK UP???  
**uptown hunk** : I  
**uptown hunk** : woulD BE HONORED  
**vive la lance** : DO YOU STILL HAVE THAT AUTOMATIC WITH THE BONUS CLIPS???  
**uptown hunk** : OF COURSE  
**vive la lance** : GOOD CAUSE THEY STUCK ME WITH THE MANUAL RELOAD AND I’M PINNED DOWN  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : called it  
**uptown hunk** : I’M ON MY WAY  
**uptown hunk** : IT’LL TAKE ME TWENTY TO GET THERE  
**uptown hunk** : CAN YOU MAKE IT??  
**vive la lance** : ILL DO MY BEST  
**uptown hunk** : ALSO IS THERE DINNER LATER?  
**vive la lance** : MOM GAVE ME MONEY FOR PIZZA  
**uptown hunk** : WILL IT BE ALRIGHT IF I’M THERE?  
**vive la lance** : DUDE SHE LOVES YOU AND THE KIDS ARE A MESS I NEED YOU MI AMIGO  
**uptown hunk** : ON IT HOMBRE  
**vive la lance** : I LOVE YOU  
**uptown hunk** : I LOVE YOU TOO  
**fuck off** : what… did I just witness  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the sound of my frustrated heart breaking at having to pull a raincheck on my announcement for these nerds  
**fuck off** : has it ever occurred to you that you’re just as dramatic in your own way?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you take that back  
**fuck off** : make me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know your passwords  
**fuck off** : hey shiro, pidge is behind on their essay and procrastinating  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge.  
**Need-A-Hand** : You’re in the library. You really shouldn’t be in the group chat.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith you’re the WORST  
**fuck off** : payback for telling lance about the mothman incident  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : worth

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Slow Broiled Raincheck”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : dare I even ask?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hello??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay I know that my luck at getting everyone in at the same time is terrible  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but there’s usually sOMEBODY  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh come on  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m stuck in the library for the next hour before matt picks me up for dinner  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : at this rate I’ll even settle for lance’s company  
**vive la lance** : okay rude  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : finally!  
**vive la lance** : no can stay, my mini dude  
**vive la lance** : coran asked me to cover for him teaching some of the kids classes  
**fuck off** : you teach classes?  
**vive la lance** : yeah man  
**vive la lance** : Im charismatic and handsome and I mold young minds  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s teaching some kids dance classes  
**vive la lance** : same thing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re not really molding their minds  
**vive la lance** : cant say molding their bodies, dude  
**vive la lance** : thats weird and wrong  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : point taken  
**fuck off** : just didn’t see you as the type to be able to teach kids  
**vive la lance** : Im going to take offense to that  
**fuck off** : I’m pleasantly surprised  
**vive la lance** : Im taking it as a compliment  
**vive la lance** : want a lesson? ;)  
**fuck off** : so you can drop me like you do during shiro and allure’s lessons?  
**fuck off** : I don’t think so  
**vive la lance** : YOU drop ME  
**fuck off** : you can’t prove anything  
**vive la lance** : I HAVE BRUISES  
**fuck off** : those could be from anywhere  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you ARE a clumsy dude with limbs that flail everywhere  
**vive la lance** : this is getting dangerously close to insulting lance territory  
**vive la lance** : lucky I have to go start class now  
**vive la lance** : hasta la later keith  
**vive la lance** : raincheck pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ugh  
**vive la lance** : if you want lessons keith Im teaching ballroom at 6  
**vive la lance** : I can show you up there too  
**fuck off** : I find that hard to believe  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he’s actually good  
**fuck off** : seriously?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dead serious  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith?  
**fuck off** : sorry just needed a moment to process that information  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : don’t worry, I’m sure you can show him up with contra dancing ;)  
**fuck off** : we agreed not to speak of that  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I do not recall  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : …  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m sorry come back I’m bored  
**fuck off** : sorry I’m in the middle of my shift and I have to go to the register now, harder to text  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dammit  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I take this to mean coran is gone too?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Yup!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I have a reunion with my old Georgian dance troupe tonight!  
**uptown hunk** : oh man I LOVE those guys  
**uptown hunk** : you guys are so fun to watch  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Thank you, Hunk :)  
**uptown hunk** : do we get to see you guys perform sometime soon?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Perhaps ;)  
**uptown hunk** : oh man oh man  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hunk does that mean you’re here?  
**uptown hunk** : nope, I have my TA hours rn  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dammit I forgot  
**uptown hunk** : I just snuck away to check my phone, but I gotta get back to work  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ugh FINE  
**uptown hunk** : see you later at home :)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah later  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : where are shiro and allura?  
**LLunarGoddess** : sorry, Pidge, since Coran is gone for the evening, I’m having some quality me time :)  
**LLunarGoddess** : I love you all, but I have a bath bomb, a bottle of wine, and netflix with my name on it  
**LLunarGoddess** : putting my phone away now  
**LLunarGoddess** : Allura, OUT! ;P  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : well thats one mystery solved  
**Need-A-Hand** : Sorry, Pidge, I’m meeting up with some old friends tonight for a beer  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : GASP  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you have friends other than us?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Believe it or not, I do ;P  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh god you’re using emojis  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : WINKY emojis  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’ve already had a beer, haven’t you?  
**Need-A-Hand** : … Perhaps  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re banned from the chat until further notice  
**Need-A-Hand** : ;’(  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nope not dealing with this alone  
**Need-A-Hand** : I cry everyteim  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE HERE TO WITNESS THIS??!  
**Need-A-Hand** : Gotta go  
**Need-A-Hand** : Fast ;)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m crying and I don’t know if my tears are from pride or embarrassment  
**Need-A-Hand** : Bye, Pidge! ;)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : GOD STOP WINKING  
**Need-A-Hand** : ;(  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : alright, you know what, I’m out too

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Slow Broiled Raincheck”**

 **vive la lance** : I am still SO. UPSET. that I missed shiros tipsy memeing  
**uptown hunk** : you read back through it  
**vive la lance** : well yeAH but it’s not the same as seeing it LIVE  
**Need-A-Hand** : It wasn’t that big of a deal, Lance  
**vive la lance** : says yOU  
**fuck off** : I could have lived without seeing it  
**Need-A-Hand** : Thank you, Keith  
**fuck off** : it wasn’t a compliment  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m still taking it as you being on my side  
**fuck off** : the more you drink, the more you act like a weird hybrid form of pidge and lance  
**vive la lance** : you say that its a bad thing  
**fuck off** : it definitely is  
**vive la lance** : not**  
**vive la lance** : you forgot the not in that sentence  
**Need-A-Hand** : I blame Matt  
**Need-A-Hand** : He’s basically an older version of Pidge  
**fuck off** : matt wasn’t even there  
**Need-A-Hand** : No, but growing up close to the Holts was bound to have some side effects  
**fuck off** : … can’t argue with that  
**vive la lance** : I vote we have another squad movie night soon  
**vive la lance** : I miss seeing drunk shiro  
**vive la lance** : last time I got him to speak only in pick up lines and puns  
**uptown hunk** : that was so much fun  
**Need-A-Hand** : let’s not  
**LLunarGoddess** : I thought it was cute ;)  
**vive la lance** : sEE?? allure thought it was cute  
**vive la lance** : we cant deny allura things that are cute  
**vive la lance** : and if that thing is shiro being drunk and ridiculous  
**vive la lance** : than by god will I take one for the team and get dance dad drunk  
**Need-A-Hand** : Allura, why do you do this to me?  
**LLunarGoddess** : it’s only because I love you ;P  
**vive la lance** : yeah shiro we love you  
**vive la lance** : … shiro?  
**fuck off** : you definitely broke him, allura  
**vive la lance** : how would you know?  
**fuck off** : he’s at my place  
**fuck off** : he WAS helping me with my bike, but now he’s just bright red and trying to remember how to breathe  
**fuck off** : I never took any cpr training so if he goes down, he’s down for good  
**fuck off** : say your goodbyes now  
**uptown hunk** : bye shiro :’( I’ll miss you, you gave good hugs, can I have your snicker doodle recipe?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Goodbye, Shiro, you were a good man and a good dancer, I’ll resurrect a statue in your honor in the entry hall of the studio  
**LLunarGoddess** : would it help if I took back what I said? was the wink face too much?  
**fuck off** : pretty sure the damage has already been done  
**vive la lance** : and the winky face was perfect allura keep it up flustered dad is hilarious  
**vive la lance** : also hA keith working on a bike  
**uptown hunk** : it’s a motorcycle, dude  
**vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : KEITH HAS A MOTORCYCLE???  
**fuck off** : uh, yeah?  
**uptown hunk** : you didn’t know?  
**vive la lance** : NO???  
**vive la lance** : HOW DO YOU KNOW???  
**uptown hunk** : he rode it over to our place once  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : He always parks it in the back. It’s quite a beautiful machine, Keith  
**fuck off** : thanks  
**fuck off** : I built her from scratch  
**vive la lance** : YOU BUILT YOUR BIKE???  
**LLunarGoddess** : you didn’t know Keith is a good mechanic?  
**vive la lance** : NO??  
**fuck off** : yeah  
**vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : I need a moment  
**LLunarGoddess** : looks like we’ve got two down  
**uptown hunk** : rip :/  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Not to detract from the current breakdowns of our beloved friends, but I would certainly be down for another rousing squad get together!  
**LLunarGoddess** : same!  
**uptown hunk** : oh oh same!  
**fuck off** : oh no  
**vive la lance** : oH YES  
**vive la lance** : PARTY PARTY PARTY  
**fuck off** : that didn’t take long  
**vive la lance** : Im currently ignoring the fact that you drive a bike in favor of thinking about a squad party  
**uptown hunk** : 8D  
**LLunarGoddess** : :’)  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : B{D  
**vive la lance** : speaking of our squad it looks like everyone’s here  
**vive la lance** : so wheres pidge?  
**uptown hunk** : :O ooooooooh  
**uptown hunk** : oooooh they’re going to be so mad  
**uptown hunk** : they’re TA’ing a class right now  
**uptown hunk** : they should be back in like two hours  
**vive la lance** : ooooh fuck  
**vive la lance** : Ive gotta leave for work in an hour and a half  
**uptown hunk** : dang :/  
**fuck off** : you work?  
**vive la lance** : yES keITH  
**vive la lance** : Im a responsible adult  
**fuck off** : color me surprised  
**vive la lance** : >:(  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Lance is a very responsible employee when he works with us  
**vive la lance** : thANK YOU  
**fuck off** : I never said he wouldn’t be  
**vive la lance** : was that… ALMOST a compliment?  
**vive la lance** : keith kogane did you almost compliment me?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith wants me to say that he can’t hear you because he’s too busy working on his bike

 

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : EVERYONE WAS HERE???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : FUCK  
**Need-A-Hand** : language  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : F*CK  
**Need-A-Hand** : Why do I bother?

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Slow Broiled Raincheck”**

 **vive la lance** : PIDGE  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE  
**vive la lance** : PIIIIIDGE  
**vive la lance** : PIDGEY!! PIDGEOTTO!!! PIDGEOT!!!!  
**vive la lance** : AMAZING BIRD OF PREY COME DOWN FROM ABOVE YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE PIDGE PIDGE PING PING PING  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : LANCE OH MY GOD  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : STOP YELLING  
**vive la lance** : SEEING AS THIS IS A TEXTING PROGRAM I PHYSICALLY AM NOT ACTUALLY YELLING  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : THIS IS THE TEXTING EQUIVALENT OF YELLING, YOU BOWL OF SOGGY FRUIT LOOPS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I WAS BEING FACETIOUS  
**vive la lance** : I AM NOT ENTIRELY CERTAIN WHAT THAT MEANS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : YOU’RE ON THE INTERNET RIGHT NOW  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : GOOGLE IT  
**vive la lance** : NO TIME THIS IS IMPORTANT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : THEN WHAT IT IS?  
**uptown hunk** : can we stop using caps now? :/ it’s hurting my eyes  
**Need-A-Hand** : Seconded  
**vive la lance** : NO CAN DO CAPSLOCK IS CRUISE CONTROL TO AWESOME B)  
**fuck off** : never say that again  
**vive la lance** : FUCK OFF  
**fuck off** : that’s my name, don’t wear it out  
**vive la lance** : ….  
**vive la lance** : did you just…  
**vive la lance** : oh my goD  
**vive la lance** : yOU just mADe a dA D jOK E  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM???  
**Need-A-Hand** : Why do you blame ME???  
**vive la lance** : you’re clEARLY the dAD  
**vive la lance** : AND you’re keiths brother  
**vive la lance** : obviously your nearness is rubbing dad humor off on him  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pfff  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance you’re overreacting  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith’s humor has been like that since he was a kid  
**vive la lance** : …. you’re kidding  
**Need-A-Hand** : Nope  
**vive la lance** : keITH???  
**fuck off** : -shrugs-  
**vive la lance** : I… I need to lie down…  
**fuck off** : dramatic  
**vive la lance** : shut up I cant tell if this is the best or worst thing thats ever happened to me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lance pls  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what did you call me in here for the second my class ended? I haven’t even gotten home yet  
**vive la lance** : riGHT!  
**fuck off** : he bounces back fast  
**uptown hunk** : always has  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE WATCH THIS  
**vive la lance** : ROLL CALL  
**vive la lance** : LANCE  
**vive la lance** : handsome, humble, and here ;)  
**vive la lance** : (don’t say anythING keiTH)  
**fuck off** : (I didn’t say anything)  
**vive la lance** (you were going to say “one of those things is true”)  
**fuck off** : (thanks for insulting yourself for me)  
**vive la lance** : (….moVING ON)  
**vive la lance** : KEITH  
**fuck off** : seriously?  
**vive la lance** : come on play along  
**fuck off** : fine  
**fuck off** : here  
**vive la lance** : thank you  
**vive la lance** : HUNK  
**uptown hunk** : yo :3c  
**vive la lance** : SHIRO  
**Need-A-Hand** : Here  
**vive la lance** : ALLURA  
**LLunarGoddess** : here! :)  
**vive la lance** : CORAN MY MAN  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Present!  
**vive la lance** : and last but certainly not least: PIDGE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : holy shit  
**vive la lance** : B)  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : are we actually all here??  
**vive la lance** : yeah booooiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!  
**vive la lance** : annOUNCEMENT TIME!  
**uptown hunk** : speech! speech! speech!  
**LLunarGoddess** : it’s your time to shine, Pidge!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : FINALLY  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : or maybe I should build suspense  
**Need-A-Hand** : Pidge.  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : fiNE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : alright nerds listen up  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so you know how matt’s been looking for a new dj gig?  
**vive la lance** : … I like where this is going  
**uptown hunk** : :O !!!  
**LLunarGoddess** : I second both of those statements  
**Need-A-Hand** : So that’s why he’s been in such a good mood lately  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : guys please  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : stop stealing my thunder  
**uptown hunk** : :o sorry  
**LLunarGoddess** : sorry!  
**vive la lance** : my b  
**Need-A-Hand** : Sorry, Pidge, go on  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : thank you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : MATT GOT A GIG AT BALMERA STARTING THIS WEEKEND  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : GUESS WHAT SQUAD IS GOING CLUBBING SATURDAY TO SUPPORT MY BROTHER’S FIRST DAY ON THE JOB  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**vive la lance** : oh my goD  
**vive la lance** : OH MY GOD  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : there’s my hype man  
**LLunarGoddess** : OH MY GOD!  
**vive la lance** : THAT’S THE SPIRIT ALLURA  
**LLunarGoddess** : WE’RE GOING CLUBBING!  
**vive la lance** : LET ME DO YOUR HAIR  
**LLunarGoddess** : ONLY IF I GET TO DO YOUR OUTFIT  
**vive la lance** : DONE AND DONE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : have I mentioned the best part? we get in for free cause matt’s putting us on the guest list  
**vive la lance** : I HAVE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN  
**vive la lance** : I SEE THE PEARLY GATES AND THEY’RE COVERED IN STROBE LIGHTS AND SURROUNDED BY SOME DEEP ASS BASS  
**LLunarGoddess** : this is so exciting! I cannot WAIT!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : alright club twins, time to turn your hype onto our favorite sticks in the metaphorical mud  
**vive la lance** : I’m on it  
**vive la lance** : hunk??? buddy????  
**uptown hunk** : I’m in :3 sounds fun  
**uptown hunk** : but uh, I vote we have like… an agreed upon safe word and agreement in case things get like… to be too much? too overstimulating?? a lot happens at clubs…  
**vive la lance** : don’t worry buddy we gotcha  
**uptown hunk** : thanks dude :3  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : You can count me in as well! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to cut loose at one of those establishments!  
**vive la lance** : corAN my mAN!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I’m going to bring out and dust off my old leather pants!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh dear god  
**vive la lance** : o kaaaay didn’t expect that but I love your enthusiasm  
**uptown hunk** : I really don’t wanna see that  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’ll make sure he’s appropriately dressed before leaving the apartment  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : bless  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m in, too  
**LLunarGoddess** : to be honest, I expected you’d need more convincing  
**Need-A-Hand** : Matt’s my roommate and best friend, I’m not going to miss seeing him on his first day  
**LLunarGoddess** : that’s actually really sweet :’)  
**vive la lance** : spoken like a true dad  
**Need-A-Hand** : Not to mention we can all stand off to the side of the DJ booth and embarrass him by acting like a proud family  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : now thAT’s the shiro I know and love  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so that just leave my favorite stick in the mud  
**vive la lance** : keeeeith  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith.  
**LLunarGoddess** : keeeeith ;)  
**uptown hunk** : keith! 8D  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Keith!  
**fuck off** : ….  
**fuck off** : oh would you look at the time  
**vive la lance** : noPE no no no no no no  
**vive la lance** : keith  
**vive la lance** : my man  
**vive la lance** : my dude  
**vive la lance** : buddy  
**vive la lance** : you are gOING to that club with us  
**fuck off** : I am not  
**vive la lance** : you are so  
**fuck off** : I’m not really… the clubbing type  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : neither is shiro and hunk and they’re going  
**uptown hunk** : yeah! it’ll be fun, dude  
**uptown hunk** : I mean, I don’t think clubs are always fun  
**uptown hunk** : but we’re going with friends so we make it fun!  
**LLunarGoddess** : we’d love it if you came out with us, Keith :)  
**LLunarGoddess** : we don’t really get to hang out much outside of the studio  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : You’re only young once!  
**vive la lance** : YOYO I like it  
**fuck off** : I don’t know…  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith.  
**fuck off** : oh no  
**Need-A-Hand** : You are part of this family now. You WILL be going on this family outing with us.  
**vive la lance** : aw yeAH dads got our back!  
**Need-A-Hand** : Lance.  
**vive la lance** : no no go back to talking to keith  
**fuck off** : ugh  
**vive la lance** : keith come on!  
**fuck off** : no  
**vive la lance** : yes!  
**fuck off** : no  
**vive la lance** : yES!  
**fuck off** : no  
**vive la lance** : YES!  
**vive la lance** : I WILL use the puppy dog eyes on you  
**fuck off** : that won’t work  
**vive la lance** : oh yeaaaah???  
**vive la lance** : GUYS CODE GINGER  
**fuck off** : wtf is code ginger?  
**fuck off** : ….  
**fuck off** : uh… guys?

 **vive la lance** has sent an image  
**coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image  
**Need-A-Hand** has sent an image  
**uptown hunk** has sent an image  
**LLunarGoddess** has sent an image  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** has sent an image

 **fuck off** : you have gOT to be kidding me  
**vive la lance** : B)  
**fuck off** : uGH  
**uptown hunk** : please keith? it would really mean a lot  
**fuck off** : oh my god  
**fuck off** : FINE  
**vive la lance** : YES  
**uptown hunk** : yay! 8D  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Horra!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : excellent  
**Need-A-Hand** : Proud of you, Keith  
**LLunarGoddess** : I can’t wait :)  
**fuck off** : I can’t believe you guys have a code name for everyone sending a puppy dog look  
**fuck off** : and why the hell is it code ginger?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : because like a ginger, a multitude of puppy dog looks like that will steal your soul and thus your will, forcing you to give into our demands  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : It was my idea!  
**fuck off** : you guys are ridiculous  
**vive la lance** : we love you too keith ;)  
**uptown hunk** : <3  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : <33  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : <333  
**LLunarGoddess** : <3333  
**Need-A-Hand** : <33333  
**fuck off** : ugh  
**fuck off** : …  
**fuck off** : <3  
**vive la lance** : !!!!!

 

* * *

 

 

“Why did I agree to this again?” Keith grumbles, arms crossed over his chest and leaning to the side to rest his head against the window.

“Because you looooove us.” Lance sings from one of the middle bucket seats. He twists around to look at him, and his lips are predictably cocked up into that smirk that matches his teasing voice so well.

Keith glares at it and at him. He hates it. He hates them both. Lance and the entity that is his smile. Smirk. Whatever. Keith hates his mouth and everything that mouth forms. Including smirks, smiles, and words. “Definitely not.” He deadpans.

His good humor isn’t deterred in the slightest. If anything, his smile widens as he tilts his head to the side. He’s done something with his hair to make it look nicer than usual, and he looks great in the outfit that Allura picked out for him. It’s casual enough, but it makes Keith wish he had put more effort into his own appearance. Shiro had assured him that he looks fine, but now he’s not so sure. He’s dull in comparison to Lance.

“Now, now, let’s not forget that heart you sent the group, implying that you do, indeed, love us.” Lance says, waving his phone in the air for emphasis.

Keith glares at him. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Oh, can’t I?”

“No?”

“I screenshotted it.”

“You did not.”

“Oh, I did.”

“Why?!”

“For future proof and blackmail, of course.”

“I hate you.”

“Sticks and stones, Keithy boy!” He says laughing, turning back around in his seat.

“Stop antagonizing him, Lance. We practically had to drag him out of his apartment.” Pidge calls out from the driver’s seat. They had borrowed their family’s van for the night, agreeing to DD for them all seeing as they were underage anyway. Though they hadn’t agreed without some grumbling.

“Speak for yourself,” Shiro snorts from his seat next to Keith in the back. “I _did_ have to drag him out.” He says, nudging Keith with his shoulder.

Keith grunts, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning his eyes to the window. They’re already deep in the city, headed for downtown. He doesn’t come this way often. He’s not a big fan of crowds, and downtown is usually full of them. He’s just glad he’s not driving.

“It’s good for you to get out once in a while.”

“Thanks, _dad_.” Keith grumbles, half heartedly shoving him back. Shiro only chuckles.

The conversation turns, and Keith finds himself only half listening. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t nervous, and he doubts anyone would believe him if he tried. He hasn’t really ever been to a club. In fact, he’s barely even been to bars. He’s gone to a couple with Shiro, and sometimes Matt and Allura, but they were usually chill bars where they sat in a corner and talked. Sometimes there was live music, but there was never… dancing.

Clubs have dancing.

Clubs have a DJ and a dance floor and his friends are all dancers, so he’d be delusional to believe that they wouldn’t spend the majority of their time there. Maybe if he looks awkward and helpless enough, some of his friends will take pity on him and stay with him while the others go off to dance.

It’s not that he doesn’t love dancing. _Obviously_ he loves dancing. He considers dancing to be one of his main passions in life. One of the only things that really makes him happy. One of the things he kind of wants to somehow make a living from. But this… this is different. He likes to choreograph. He likes to listen to the music alone, likes to let instinct figure out what moves to use and how they flow together, likes to train and practice and repeat until everything is beaten into muscle memory and feels natural, and then, only then, does he like to perform in front of a crowd. Even then he’s still a little nervous about performing, but at least at that point he can trust his body to do what it needs to do.

This is different. There are no preset moves to rely on. There’s no predictable music. There’s no space to perform. It’s just people… dancing. Even people who have absolutely no rhythm. They just go out there and _move_ like they’ve known how to do it their entire lives.

Keith doesn’t know how to do that. Club dancing is a style that he’s never really gotten into. It’s a lot of just… grinding and rolling and moving in ways that are supposed to make you stand out but never really do because everyone is doing the same thing. He doesn’t think he can do that on his own, let alone standing up close and personal with his friends who are all probably infinitely better at this than he is. Certainly all more comfortable. Especially Lance.

Oh god, Lance is probably fantastic at club dancing. This kind of shit is right up his alley: all free style and smooth confidence. Keith is going to look like an idiot. He’s going to look like an awkward, stiff idiot with two left feet and a stick rammed so far up his ass it’s breaking his teeth.

Why the fuck did he agree to come tonight? Surely looking like a loner who doesn’t want to hang out with his friends would be better than this…

Who is he kidding? He knew he was going to regret it, no matter which decision he made. Which is probably why he decided to just suck it up and go along with his friends. At least this way they can’t say that he never tried.

Keith’s gut is in knots as they pull into the parking lot and climb out of the van. He gazes up at the neon sign above the front doors that reads, _BALMERA_. The parking lot is crowded, and there’s a mass of people outside on the outdoor patio smoking. He can hear the dull throb of music from within, breaking through the otherwise peaceful night.

He’s not sure what expression is on his face as he stares at the club building, anxiety tightening his chest, but it’s apparently enough to catch Hunk’s attention.

He slides up next to Keith as the others climb out of the van and sort themselves out. “Have you ever been to a club before?” He asks, voice casual but soft enough that the conversation can stay between them.

Keith purses his lips together, shaking his head.

Hunk chuckles, but it’s not the harsh laugh of mockery. It’s softer, more sympathetic. “Yeah, I’ve only been to one once. Lance made us go on his twenty-first birthday. Oh man, that was a crazy time.”

Keith cocks a small, wry smile. “I can imagine.”

Hunk shakes his head. “No, no, you don’t get it. It was _terrible_. Lance’s girlfriend had just broken up with him, and _that_ is a whole ‘nother can of worms I shouldn’t get into, but it was messy and it left him pretty messed up, so we _really_ shouldn’t have taken him to a club, but we’re his best friends so what were we gonna say? No? It was his birthday.” Hunk’s hands are waving around while he narrates. He gets his whole face into it, expressing so many emotions from a past that Keith wasn’t apart of, yet feels like he’s reliving with him. It reminds him a lot of Lance, to be honest. Perhaps he never noticed because Lance is always so loud and dramatic enough that it drowns Hunk out. Or maybe he’s just always too distracted by Lance…

“So Pidge couldn’t drink cause they were underage, of course, but they were nineteen so they could get in, and I am _so_ grateful for that because I would _not_ have been able to handle Lance on my own. He got drunker than he should have, despite us trying to count his drinks. He just kept _getting more_ when he weren’t looking. And he kept sneaking off as soon as we turned our backs. Just _POOF_ , disappears into the crowd. And he was flirting _terribly_ with basically everyone, so we had to keep him from getting too wrapped up with someone or from getting into a fight for flirting with the wrong people, and we _tried_ to help him have a good time, which I think we did despite him being a mess, but Pidge and I were not very impressed by club life.”

Keith’s smile is sympathetic. “Understandable.”

Hunk’s laugh is full of bitter humor, the kind that comes from finding a past event amusing only in hindsight. He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, after that we agreed on the Four Friend Rule.”

Keith’s smile fades as he raises an eyebrow. “Four Friend Rule?”

Hunk nods. “Yeah! Four Friend Rule.” He holds up both hands, two fingers up on each. “We only go to a club if there’s four of us. That way there’s enough of us that we can always pair off. You know, like a buddy system. Keeps everyone safer and from getting lost and from making stupid decisions…. well, mostly anyway.”

He smiles, and it’s warm and comforting, and Keith feels the anxiety in his chest loosen a bit. He feels like he can breathe again. “Why’re you telling me this?” He asks, but despite his blunt question, he’s smiling back and his tone is nothing but curious.

Hunk shrugs, tilting his head to the side. “Just to let you know that we’re not crazy club animals? And despite Lance’s enthusiasm, he’s not really the club type either. This is like… a special occasion, which is why we’re all so excited. And this time there’s _seven_ of us, if you don’t count Matt. Plus, I could see you were actually a little nervous, so I want you to know that I am, too, but it’ll still be fun cause like… we form our own little group. It’s just like the seven of us having a party, just in a place with other people who are also having party. If that makes sense?”

Keith chuckles softly. “I think I get what you mean. Thanks, Hunk.” He says, and he means it.

Hunk grins, bumping their shoulders enough that Keith stumbles a step. “It’ll be fun, promise.”

Keith can’t hep but smile at that. “Okay.”

“Hey!” Lance says, marching toward them from around the hood of the car. Both Keith and Hunk turn to look at him. He glares at Keith, but he can tell there’s no real heat there. “How come when _I_ say it’s gonna be fun, you don’t believe me, but when _Hunk_ says it, you trust him?” He gestures wildly between himself and Hunk as he talks, and ends with his hands on his hips, leaning forward slightly to put himself at eye level with Keith.

Keith just shrugs, a small smirk curving his lips. “I guess I just trust Hunk more.”

Lance gasps loudly, leaning back as one hand goes to his chest. “Uh, _rude!_ And here I thought all those trust exercises were getting us somewhere!”

“Don’t take it personally, Lance.” Pidge says, sliding up next to them. They cross their arms over their chest, leaning their head and shoulder lazily against Keith’s arm. “Everyone trusts Hunk more than you.”

“I’m very trustworthy!” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right, Keith? You trust me! Allura even said we’re getting better at the trust exercises!”

“That’s true. I did.” She says as she, Shiro, and Coran come to join them. “You two have made remarkable improvement in the past three weeks.”

“See!”

Keith shrugs. “I trust you on the dance floor.” He says, leaving his tone vague and the statement open ended, implying that might be the only place he trusts him. It’s not true, of course. He hates to admit it, but when it comes right down to it, he would trust Lance in a heartbeat. Doesn’t mean he can’t watch him squirm though.

And squirm he does. His eyes narrow as he looks at Keith, lips twisting into a pout. He tilts his head to the side as he whines, “Keeeeith.”

Keith only grins.

“Not Keith’s fault.” Pidge says, and he can feel them shrug against his arm. “I mean, have you _seen_ , Hunk? Dude’s like a big cinnamon roll. Who wouldn’t trust him?” Pidge waves a hand towards the large man in question.

Coran lifts a finger. “Not to mention Hunk here has the highest record of being right in most situations.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, eyeing him curiously. “Are you keeping track?”

Coran only smiles, twisting his mustache as his eyes glint mischievously. “Perhaps…”

“Fiiiine,” Lance drawls, throwing himself dramatically onto Hunk, leaning against him and throwing an arm over his shoulders. “I’ll concede, but only because Hunk’s my best friend and can confirm that he is, indeed, a precious cinnamon roll and the most trust worthy person I know.”

“Awww, bro.” Hunk says, wrapping Lance up in a bone crushing hung, lifting him off his feel and twisting back and forth, leaving Lance’s limbs to dangle awkwardly. He’s laughing breathlessly though, and the rest of them smile.

Shiro and Pidge lead the way through the parking lot, and the rest of them trail behind. The line is long, but moves quickly, and before he’s really ready, they’re stepping inside. The employee at the door checks their ID’s, gives six of them a wristband, marks a black X on Pidge’s hands, and checks their names on the guest list before waving them on. Pidge leads the way with far more confidence than Keith would have expected. Like him, Pidge has never liked crowds. Unlike him, however, they weren’t afraid to bully their way through one. Despite their short stature.

Pidge leads them through the entry halls and into the first room. It’s large, dark, and loud. A bar lines wall and there are tall tables bolted to the floor and spread around the room. The room is thick with people. Keith thinks they’re going to stop at the bar, but Pidge bypasses it, shouldering through the crowd and leaving a small gap for Keith to dart through before the bodies close around it. He puts a hand on Pidge’s shoulder to keep them in his sights, and feels a hand rest against his back. When he turns, Shiro gives him a small smile before turning and reaching out a hand toward Allura. They make a single file train to follow Pidge.

They pass through a second room with pool tables, dart boards, and corn hole boards. The room is less crowded than the others, but all the game stations are taken. It’s easier to navigate. They enter a wide hallway, and pass by several open doorways. One leads to an outdoor courtyard that seems to be sporting it’s own bar on the far side, but it’s honestly hard to tell with the sheer mass of people out there. They pass another door that undoubtably leads to the main dance floor. Keith glances inside as they pass. It’s dark, with flashing lights that give glimpses of grinding and writhing bodies. Music blasts from the room, and Keith can feel the thump of the bass in his feet, pulsing up through his chest.

He gulps, hand instinctively tightening on Pidge’s shoulder. But Pidge keeps walking, and he’s a little surprised to feel Pidge’s hand covering his, giving his fingers a small squeeze.

They finally stop when they reach a room toward the back of the complex. The room is significantly less crowded. There’s a bar along one wall and several tall tables scattered close by. On the outer edges of the room, there are also couches with low coffee tables between them. It looks more like a lounge than any other room in the club that he’s seen so far. The music is significantly softer here, though he can still feel it pounding and pulsing like a heartbeat throughout the entirety of the club.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Keith asks when they finally come to a stop and the group starts to gather in a small circle.

Pidge shrugs. “I came here with Matt earlier in the week when he came to see the set up.” They turn to face the group, setting their hands on their hips. “Alright, so the manager said this is the least crowded room in the whole place, so I vote we use it as our base of operations. You lose the group? Come here. It’ll be the meet up spot. Agreed?”

There are nods around the group, and Shiro glances at the watch on his wrist. Keith has to actively resist the urge to roll his eyes. Seriously? A watch? Who wears a watch anymore, Shiro? Old people, that’s who. His brother is dressed handsomely though, with well fitting dark jeans and a black button up that has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and is open to reveal a tight v-neck. Watch or not, he doesn’t look old.

“Matt should have taken over the DJ booth about half an hour ago.” He says.

Allura puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile when he turns to look at her. “Perhaps we should give him a little longer to settle in before we make our appearance.”

“You ruin all my fun.” Shiro says with a light smile.

Allura gives him a quick wink and a smirk. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

And while Shiro manages to keep a steady expression, Keith can see him breaking down under the weight of Allura’s gaze. He can see the way his brother’s hand flexes, the way his prosthetic taps against his thigh, the way a blush lights up his cheeks, putting his scar in stark relief. He can’t really blame him. Allura is damn gorgeous. She dressed up for the evening with a light blue dress that hangs off her shoulder, her hair half pinned up with pins and beads and silver white tendrils that fell to frame her face.

Keith wonders if they had gone through with their bargain and if Lance had actually done Allura’s hair. He hadn’t thought to ask, but if that _had_ been Lance… well, Keith is impressed.

“Alright,” Lance says, clapping his hands together loudly and drawing the attention to him. He takes a moment to sweep his gaze around the group, grinning. “While we wait, I vote we get drinks.”

“Aw yeah, let’s get our drink on.” Pidge deadpans with monotoned enthusiasm.

Lance laughs, ruffling their hair. “Next year, short stuff!”

Pidge slaps his hands away, and Lance snatches them back to his chest quickly. “Fuck off, bean pole.”

“Hey, calm down!” He throws an arm over Pidge’s shoulder and leans in close, putting a hand up to his mouth while whispering loudly. “We’ll sneak you some of our drinks while Shiro isn’t looking.”

“Lance,” Shiro levels a look at them both.

Lance throws his hands up in the air, doing his best and failing to hide his smile. “What? I didn’t say anything!” Shiro continues to stare at him, and Lance fidgets under his gaze. He darts behind Pidge and makes a laughable attempt to hide. “Pidge, protect me from dad.”

Pidge crosses their arms over their chest and rolls their eyes. “I’ll make sure I’m sober by the time we leave.” They say, meeting Shiro’s eyes with a challenge, as if daring him to try to stop them.

He looks like he just might try, but then Allura is slipping her arm around Shiro’s, pressing herself against his arm as she looks around him to where Coran is standing. “Coran, do you think they have any decent whiskey? Perhaps you can convince the bartender to make that drink you wanted Shiro to try?”

Coran’s eyes sparkle as he stands up straight, snapping his fingers. “Oh, right! _That_ drink! Let’s find out, shall we?” He swoops in and wraps an arm around Shiro’s other arm, turning him with Allura’s help to tug him toward the bar. “It’s a concoction of my grandfather’s own design! He called it The Hair Tonic, because it’s bound to put some hair on your chest!”

As he and Allura drag Shiro away toward the bar, Allura glances over her shoulder, giving them a smile and a wink. Pidge grins, and Lance gives her a mock salute.

After they all get drinks, the seven of them claim two couches facing each other across a coffee table at the far end of the room. The couches aren’t exactly big, and it’s a tight fit, but they make it work: Shiro, Allura, and Coran take one couch while Keith, Lance, and Hunk take the other. Pidge perches themselves on the arm of the chair next to Hunk, leaning against his arm.

Keith tries to ignore the fact that Lance is pressed right up against him, leg to leg and arm to arm. He rests an elbow on the arm of the couch and tries to lean away from him as much as he can without being too obvious. Touching Lance has gotten easier since they started taking lessons with Shiro and Allura, but the casual touches outside of practice still make his stomach twist in knots

He hates it, and he can’t wait for this stupid infatuation to pass. And it _will_ pass, because it always does. It’s not the first time he’s found himself unexplainably attracted to someone, and it’s not the first time he’s ignored those feelings until they went away. It’s just easier this way. Especially since Lance is now not only his dance partner, but his friend. He’s not about to sacrifice his new friend group just because his hormones decided to wake up and give him his yearly crush.

Except it’s not a crush. It’s just the _potential_ for a crush. He’s not letting it progress that far. He refuses.

Unfortunately, in the meantime, he’s just going to have to deal with the fact that Lance’s touch sends electricity shooting through his veins, that his smile makes his stomach do summersaults, that his laugh makes something tighten in his chest. All physical responses. Physical responses could be overcome. Mind over matter, right?

So what if he likes to push Lance’s buttons to see him riled up? It’s cute, yeah, but it’s also hilarious. So what if he’ll go out of his way to do nice things for Lance? To make him smile? That’s what friends do. They make each other happy. So what if he looks forward to Wednesdays because Shiro and Allura’s synergy lessons give him an excuse to be close to Lance? So what if—

Oh man, he’s got it bad, doesn’t he?

 _Fuck_ …

“Hey,” Keith jerks when Lance’s voice is suddenly right in his ear, breath warm against his cheek. He had been attempting to pay attention to whatever Allura and Coran were talking about across from him, but he hadn’t realized how much he had zoned out. He leans away to put some distance between them before half turning to look at Lance. His brows are furrowed and his lips are curled into a small frown.

“What?”

“You okay, dude?”

Keith frowned, one hand curling into a fist on his leg. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Okay, that came out a little more defensive than he would have liked.

Lance’s frown deepens and his eyes search Keith’s face. He really fucking hopes he’s not blushing. “I dunno, but you’re all stiff and twitchy.”

“I am not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna deny it?” He uses his free hand to point to Keith’s leg, the one that’s pressed up against his. It’s bouncing. Keith immediately stops. “Usually _I’m_ the one who can’t sit still.”

Keith grunts and turns away, lifting his cup to his lips to sip. It’s a simple rum and coke, but he had ordered it strong. He felt like he’d need it. The burn at the back of his throat is oddly comforting.

Lance isn’t quite done with him. “Not a club person?”

Keith snorts. “What gave it away?”

“Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?”

“I’m so proud of you for using that word correctly.”

“I’m a learned man, Keith. A man of many talents.”

“Is one of those talents looking like an idiot?” Keith asks, gesturing to the multitude of glow bracelets hanging on his wrists over his usual bracelets and wrapped around his neck. They’re not glowing very well in the lighting of the lounge room. They look sickly and dull.

“Hey! Don’t knock the glow bracelets, dude!” Lance says, pointing a finger at Keith. He glares at him, finger an inch from his cheek. Then, with the shadow of an amused smirk breaking through his mock frown, he shifts his finger forward to poke Keith’s nose.

“Stop that.” Keith snaps, slapping his hand away and wrinkling his nose.

Lance smiles at that, cocking his head to the side as he chuckles. They’re leaning in close, which isn’t too hard given their proximity on the couch, and Lance seems to be making an effort to keep their conversation between them. No one’s made a move to intrude, and while Keith catches Shiro’s curious glance, he doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously, though, if you’re good tonight, maaaaaybe I’ll consider giving you one.” He says, voice aloof as he dangles a wrist in front of Keith.

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. “No thanks.” But he’s smiling. It’s small, a mere tilt of his lips, but it’s there.

“Mark my words, Kogane. By the end of the night, I’m _going_ to get you to wear one of these.” He says with his signature smirk.

“I’ll take that bet.”

“You sure? I’ve already gotten everyone else to wear one.” He says, grin widening. He sits back, one arm crossed over his chest as he sips his drink. “Even Shiro and Pidge.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “There’s no way—“ But as he glances across to his brother, sure enough, there’s a purple glow necklace around his neck. Keith lifts an eyebrow as he deadpans, “Seriously?”

Shiro manages to look sheepish as he shrugs. “Allura was persuasive.”

“You’re weak.”

Shiro shrugs but doesn’t deny it as he hides his face behind his cup. Keith isn’t sure if he got whatever drink Coran was talking about, but judging from the look on his face when he takes a sip, he’s going to go with yes.

Lance, Hunk, and Allura had the most glow bracelets, and they’d been wearing them since Keith was picked up. He’s not surprised about Lance and Hunk. This is exactly the kind of thing Lance would think of, and Hunk is good natured enough to go along with it. Allura, he’s a little surprised about, but he really shouldn’t be. Despite her elegance and beauty, she’s a child at heart and is easily wrapped up in Lance’s ideas if she thinks they’ll be fun. Coran gained a few bracelets and a necklace shortly after getting into the van. He was nearly as enthusiastic about getting them as Hunk was about giving them.

Keith, Shiro, and Pidge, however, had declined.

At least that’s what he had _thought_. He should have known Shiro would cave the moment Allura got involved. Pidge, however, is made of tougher stuff.

“Pidge?” He asks, leaning forward to look at them perched on the far end of the couch.

Pidge’s smile is small and a little apologetic as they lift a hand and present their wrist where there are two green glow bracelets. “Sorry, Keith. Hunk got me.”

Keith glares. “I feel betrayed.”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re here to have fun.”

“And what’s more fun than glow bracelets?” Lance says, grinning.

“I like them. They kind of make us stick out as a squad.” Hunk says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re here to have fun with friends, after all.” He gives Keith a genuine smile, and okay, he can see how Pidge broke so easily to Hunk. Still, Lance is watching him, and Keith isn’t going to cave just yet.

“Besides, Hunk brought up a good point: the more ridiculous we look, the more it’ll embarrass Matt.” Pidge’s smile is devious, and Keith finds himself with a similar smirk. They have a good point. Matt is just as much family as Pidge is. He’s an honorary older brother. And as such, it’s Keith’s job to embarrass him.

“Fair enough.”

“So you’ll wear one?” Lance asks, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Not on your life.”

“Oh, come on, Keith!”

Lance continues to bug him, and Keith makes a point of ignoring him by talking to everyone else. Lance complains, leaning into Keith and practically begging for his attention, while Keith tries his best to hold a straight face as he talks loudly to the others. It doesn’t take long for Lance to switch to draping himself against Hunk, who takes Keith’s cue to ignore Lance in order to talk animatedly to Allura. He tries leaning across Hunk to poke at Pidge, but Pidge ignores him in favor of leaning forward to talk loudly to Keith about a new alien documentary that’s supposed to be out.

Lance is dramatic, but his antics make everyone smile through the indifferent masks they’re trying to hold, and even Lance is having a hard time keeping up his pouting facade. When he leans across Keith’s lap to lean against the arm of the couch in order to stretch his legs out across Hunk, Keith really hopes the warmth rising to his cheeks isn’t visible.

Either way, he catches Shiro’s eye and his brother leans back, resting one foot over the other knee as he sips his drink, waggling his eyebrows and smiling knowingly. Keith glares daggers at him.

When they’re all finished with their drinks, Pidge and Shiro waste no time rushing people up and ushering them all out of the room and toward the source of the club’s music: the dance floor. Keith’s nerves have subsided for the most part, what with Lance’s dramatics and the warm buzz of rum in his system, but it’s starting to come back, leaking into his system and coiling low in his gut.

But then Lance is there, draping his arm around Keith’s shoulders and tugging him close with a casual squeeze. “Relax, John Stamos.” He says lightly.

Keith glances up at him, eyebrows raised. “You know, that’s another one I don’t really mind.”

Lance’s grin is small and sincere. “Yeah, I had a feeling. You’ve got that eighties bad boy vibe.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“You know what? Neither am I.” He laughs, but the sound is drowned out as they turn the corner and step into the dance room.

It’s dark, with flashing lights that light up and throw the writhing crowd into silhouettes. Keith feels immediately engulfed in the atmosphere, nearly suffocated by it. The air here is heavy and warm, and the energy is thick enough to be cut with a knife. The music is music he vaguely recognizes from the stuff he’s gotten from Matt, but it’s pounding down through his body, rattling his bones and driving his heart rate through the roof.

He nearly turns right the fuck around, but Lance’s arm is still around his shoulders and tugging him after their friends. His legs feel numb and rigid as he blindly follows. As they push along the outskirts of the crowd, Lance’s arm drops to push ahead of him a little, shouldering people aside in Coran’s wake. But his hand remains on Keith’s arm, tugging him ever onward. As the bodies press in close, he finds himself leaning toward Lance. Much to Keith’s gratitude, Lance doesn’t bring it up.

The DJ booth is halfway along one of the sidewalls, elevated a few steps above the floor. They can only see the edges of Matt’s equipment peeking over the top of the booth, but they can see him clearly.

He’s standing over his equipment, eyes focused on it with an intensity and single minded concentration that he often sees in Pidge. In all honesty, the two siblings look incredibly alike. Matt’s taller, with a little more of a masculine build and cut to his face, but their hair is styled nearly the same with the exact same copper-orange color. Not to mention their eyes are exactly the same: amber, bright with intellect, wide with curiosity, sharp with analysis, and soft with unwavering loyalty. The only difference is that Pidge can’t quite hide the mischievous air about them, and Matt is much more laid back and open.

He has his headphones on, making his hair stand up in more angles than it does usually, and his head is bobbing along with the beat as his hands adjust levels on the boards they can’t see.

They stop in front of the booth, a little to the side, and huddle into a group. He hasn’t noticed them yet, and Keith doubts he will until they make their presence known. He can imagine the crowd just kinda blurs into the background when you’re up there. Hell, the crowd is blurring for him and he’s _in_ it.

“Alright,” Pidge says, eyeing their brother before looking around the group. A smirk decorates their lips, crinkling their eyes as they reach into one of the bigger pockets of their pants and pull out a large, folded piece of paper. “Let’s do this. No holding back. I want to see him firmly embarrassed. No excuses.”

They systematically and carefully unfold the paper to reveal a large poster with the words “THAT DJ NERD IS MY BROTHER” written out in large block letters in a horrendously vibrant paint that glows in the blacklights around the club. In the dim lighting, he can’t even see the creases from it being folded for so long.

“Where were you even keeping that?” Keith asks, eyeing them curiously.

They shrug. “These pants have big pockets.”

“Is that glitter?” Lance asks, leaning in close to inspect the poster.

Pidge is grinning. “Damn right, it is. It was Hunk’s idea.”

Lance leans back, nodding as he reaches out to pat Hunk’s arm. “Nice eye, buddy.”

Hunk crosses his arms over his chest, smiling. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to see it in this lighting, but I thought it was worth a shot.”

“It’s a nice touch.” Lance agrees.

Allura is chuckling, hiding her smile behind her hand. “Absolutely brilliant craftsmanship, Pidge.”

Coran idly twirls his mustache, one arm crossed over his chest as he grins. “Agreed. Absolutely impeccable.”

Pidge gives a small bow. “I try.”

Shiro looks over the sign, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It’s completely horrendous.” He deadpans, and then a wide grin slowly overtakes his lips. “I love it.”

Pidge is beaming. “I knew you would.”

And then they set to work embarrassing Matt.

At Shiro’s cue, and following Pidge’s lead, they all step forward and start squealing, voices high in pitch. Pidge climbs up onto Hunk’s shoulders and holds the sign above their head while they scream, “THAT NERD IS MY BROTHER! THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

Matt’s head snaps up, and the widening of his eyes is absolutely hilarious. His mouth drops open as he gapes at them in horror. He freezes, one hand on his headset and the other hovering above the buttons of his board.

With his hands on Pidge’s legs to keep them balanced, Hunk dances side to side, swiveling his hips and jostling Pidge. Shiro links his fingers together and puts them under his chin, putting his knees together as he squats a little, letting out the highest pitched squeal Keith has ever heard from him. He wiggles around like something straight out of a cartoon as he makes faces at Matt. He’s supposed to be embarrassing his roommate, but honestly, Keith is feeling it just as hard. Lance and Allura lock hands, jumping up and down and squealing as they point to Matt and giggle loudly. Then they both dramatically swoon, hands to their chests and foreheads. Legs straight as a board, they fall backward. Allura falls right into Coran’s waiting arms, who catches her, lets her lean against his chest, and throws a hand of his own to his forehead, declaring things about Matt in a loud, overly dramatic voice.

Lance falls right toward Keith, and if it weren’t for their weekly trust exercises, he might not have caught him in time. But the way he steps forward to catch Lance under the arms is completely automatic and without hesitation. Lance tilts his head back, breaking character for a moment to grin up at him.

“Knew I could trust you, partner.” He says with a wink, and Keith feels himself stiffen, heart hammering in his chest as his breath hitches. But Lance is already standing up on his own again and joining in with the others to continue their antics.

After several moments of him, Matt finally breaks out of his shock. He sighs, and though they can’t hear it, they can see it in the way his shoulders sag. He puts a hand to his face, covering most of it as he turns away, but Keith can see the tell tale signs of a smile there.

It’s not long before he has to get back to his work though, and he waves them off, half an eye on his equipment and his computer screen.

“I LOVE YOU, BRO!” Pidge yells loud enough to be heard, brandishing their sign for the last time.

He flips them off, but he’s laughing.

Once the sign in folded and once again stuffed into their pocket, the group heads deeper into the crowd. Keith follows close behind, chest clenched tight and breaths coming short and shallow. They manage to carve out a section of the dance floor for themselves, standing around and forming a small circle.

As it turns out, it’s not as bad as Keith was anticipating. The group stands in a circle, movement running through them as they feel for the beat, during which Keith feels far too stiff. But then Lance steps forward and starts doing the sprinkler, complete with a hand behind his head and the other outstretched, moving in tics with the beat. He makes faces at Hunk across the circle, and he laughs before joining in. It’s not long before everyone joins in with the ridiculous dance move, Pidge bumping Keith’s hip until he reluctantly rolls with it.

When all of their sprinklers reset at the same time and they all make various sprinkler sounds, Keith can’t help but laugh. And just like that, the tension he feels breaks.

Somehow, unspoken, a game is formed. They go around the circle, taking turns coming up with some novelty dance move that the others then all have to copy. Since it started with Lance, it moves onto Allura at his other side. She doesn’t miss a beat before putting her hands out like she’s swimming, going a few times before plugging up her nose and wiggling an arm in the air and sinking a little with bent knees.

Coran does cliche disco moves. Hunk does the running man. Shiro does the monkey. Pidge does the robot, though they do it significantly worse and more cliche than everyone knows they can. When it gets to Keith, he panics for a moment, looking around at all the smiling and expectant eyes, before hesitantly doing the cabbage patch. Lance throws back his head and laughs, getting into it and bumping Keith’s hip with his own.

His cheeks hurt from smiling.

He wonders why he ever expected everyone to be into typical club dancing. His group of friends… they’re more into having fun than showing off. They dance seriously on a near daily basis. This is for fun, and they make it show.

And with the way their tight circle is formed, backs to the crowd around them, it’s like they’re in their own little island in a sea of strangers. Keith can effectively block everyone else out and just relax with his friends.

The game goes on, and when they run out of known novelty dances, they start making things up. The songs change, a mix of Matt’s remixes of popular songs as well as some of his originals mixed in there. Keith doesn’t recognize all of it, but it all has the same feel: the vibe that drives them forward, keeps their body moving of its own accord, a beat that’s forever pounding onward.

Eventually the game dissolves, along with their circle, and they start dancing in a way that Keith had feared. But… it turns out to not be that bad. Lance and Pidge somehow end up next to each other and dance together in a style that is so completely Pidge: quick precise movements that are jagged yet flow into each other. Keith is… a little impressed. He didn’t think Lance could dance like that. He’s actually pretty good.

Allura and Coran end up dancing together in wild, spinning, dramatic motions that forces other people away to make space for them. Coran is just as wild and energetic as the other times Keith has seen him dance, and Allura keeps up beautifully, adding her own grace that’s so definably hers. Shiro and Hunk show up on either side of him, nudging his hip with their own. Neither of them are dancing anything crazy. They’re just bobbing back and forth, shifting with their weight with the beat and just letting it control their movements in subtle but sure ways. Keith takes their lead. It’s barely dancing compared to what they usually do. It’s just kind of… _moving_ to the beat, but any movement keeps them from standing out.

And truth be told, it’s difficult not to move at all. The beat is driving, singing in his veins and practically begging him to move to some degree, tugging on his strings to sway his body and bob his head. He’s not sure what to do with his arms, so he lets them mostly hang at his sides, moving them in small movements as he mimics Hunk.

Shiro starts dancing the twist and Keith groans loudly, throwing his head back and running his hands down his face. Hunk is laughing, and it’s not long before he’s copying Shiro. They crowd him until he has no choice but to relent, laughing as he does so.

At some point, Shiro and Allura split off from the ground, dancing close and sensual with the music, bodies rolling together and sharing gentle caresses. The maintain eye contact for most of it. It’s tender, and somehow manages to be sweet and lack any of the raunchy atmosphere that surrounds some of the other dancers around them. Still, somehow they make it a private moment that feels inappropriate to intrude on, so the rest of their group turns their eyes away and lets them have it to themselves.

Keith watches with amusement as Pidge attempts to teach Coran some of their robotic dance moves. Which he’s not bad at, but certainly lacks some of the fluidity that Pidge embodies. Movement catches his eye as Lance bends in half, scooting backwards in large movements as he bounces until he’s hilariously rubbing his ass on Hunk. The big guy just laughs, attempting to shove Lance away, but his shaking ass is persistent. Keith laughs, unable to hold it back. The sound is drowned out in the general noise that fills the dance floor, but Lance seems to notice anyway. With a mischievous look, he turns his attention to Keith and waggles his eyebrows as he straightens. He makes a motion like twirling a lasso and throws it at Keith, who just stares at him, unimpressed.

Lance, not one to be deterred when Keith stands still, instead jerks forward with every phantom pull on the invisible rope. He does this until he’s right in front of him, grinning widely, and though he tries, Keith can’t quite smother his amused smirk.

Then he’s suddenly sidling further forward, hands reaching out to grab hold of Keith’s hips. His touch isn’t hesitant, but it’s light and gentle, and if it weren’t for the warmth of his palms and the slight pressure of his fingers, Keith would doubt he was touching him at all.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Lance leans forward, breath tickling the hair by his ears when he speaks. “You need to relax.” He says, voice pitched far too low for comfort. It makes something in Keith’s chest tighten, a shiver running down his spine to curl his toes. They had been this close before, especially with Shiro and Allura’s weekly lessons, but this is different. They aren’t practicing choreography. They’re just… existing, together, here. It’s a conscious choice on Lance’s part to be this close to him, and it’s making thinking difficult.

So Keith pulls back. Not physically. He doesn’t think he can pull back physically. But he pulls back mentally, stuffing down his chaotic emotions for a moment as a scowl hardens his expression. Or at least, he tries to scowl. Judging from Lance’s reaction, it might have come out as more of a pout.

“I _am_ relaxed,” He says defensively.

Lance had already leaned back to look at him, a small smile playing across his lips, but at that, he tosses his head back and laughs. His grip on Keith’s hips tighten as he puts forth effort to wiggle them back and forth. “You’re still so stiff!” He says, eyes finding Keith’s. They’re dark in the dim lighting, but every once in a while one of the flashing lights will catch them, reflecting brightly and giving dazzling depth to his irises.

He’s still smirking, but there’s an edge of amused fondness there that Keith doesn’t know what to do with, so he just frowns. “I am not.”

“You are!” Lance argues, releasing his hips to step back. Keith tries not to mourn the loss of his touch. Then Lance is suddenly grabbing his wrist, stepping to his side and holding out his free arm. He starts a rolling motion there, rolling a wave along his arm, his shoulders, down his other arm, and into Keith’s. When Keith doesn’t move, his shoulders hunch and he pouts. “Keeeith! You let the wave die! You can’t let the wave die!”

And Keith chuckles, because it’s so absurd and ridiculous and so completely _Lance_.

He goes again, and this time Keith rolls the wave through both arms, pausing, and then rolling it back. Lance laughs as it goes through him, and when it reaches his extended free arm, he throws the invisible wave at Hunk, who catches it without hesitation and rolls it through his own body. They throw it around the group like it’s a living thing, getting more and more dramatic and big with their actions as it goes on until they’re laughing too hard to keep it going.

At some point they end up forming a circle again, widening it so they can take turns dancing in the middle. As the people around them catch on, the circle ends up widening, more and more people joining. All of his friends take turns dancing in the circle. Keith, however, refrains, and whenever someone nudges him, he shakes his head and smiles apologetically, then someone else takes the floor and he’s forgotten. Luckily, his friends don’t push him too hard. They all either know he’s uncomfortable with it, or they pick up on it pretty quickly.

He knows it’s for fun, and it’s just around his friends and people he’ll probably never see again, but he just… can’t get himself to take to the circle. It’s just… not his thing, and as much as he would like to be able to relax enough to just wing it, his thoughts are too loud and paralyze his body, keeping him from just doing it. He’ll need a lot more alcohol before he’s that comfortable.

Lance, however, is absolutely _living_. He dives into the circle as often as he can while still giving others a chance. Even going so far as to have a dance off with several people. This is his element, and this is where he shines, beneath the flashing, colored club lights, surrounded by people cheering him on, where freestyle reigns king.

And here, Lance is king, and Keith can do nothing but watch, knowing he’ll never be able to touch that light.

It’s some point during Coran’s turn, in which he spins around the widened circle, legs kicked out, toes bent in ways they shouldn’t, and going up and dropping to his knees in such quick succession that it leaves the crowd in awe, when Lance tugs at his arm. Keith doesn’t resist, unable to, as Lance practically drags him through the crowd.

And that’s how they end up back at the lounge, leaning against the bar as they order another round of drinks. Keith is grateful for the change of scenery, though he can’t help but wonder why Lance dragged him, of all people, with him, He knows of the buddy system from Hunk, but he didn’t think Lance would choose _him_ as his drinking buddy. He wonders if Lance sensed that he needed a break. Is that too much wishful thinking? Keith isn’t sure. He takes a long swig of his rum and coke as soon as it’s set in front of him. All this thinking is making his head hurt. Why can’t he just have a fun night out with his friends without thinking himself in circles around Lance?

Infatuation sucks.

“How can you drink that?” Lance asks, leaning both elbows on the bar counter as he sips his drink. As he’s leaned forward, he has one foot propped up on the low bar that runs along the bottom of the bar. His lips are quirked at one side, giving Keith the smallest of smirks.

Keith shrugs, turning to lean has back against the bar, one elbow bent to rest on it behind him. “It’s simple, easy, and tastes good.” He says, looking down at his drink, swirling it around the plastic cup.

Lance snorts, eyeing him over the rim of his own plastic cup to hide his smile. “It’s just cheep rum and coke, dude.”

Keith nods once and repeats, “It’s simple, easy, and tastes good.” Then he eyes Lance sideways, his own smirk crawling it’s way onto his lips. “Besides, it’s better than your drink.”

“Um, _excuse_ ,” He says, lifting his cup a fraction and gesturing toward Keith with it. “Vodka cranberry is a _classic_.”

“So is rum and coke!”

“Yeah, but cranberries are more fruity and delicious and good for you.”

“But vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol.”

“Ah, but it’s ingeniously hidden by the cranberry juice.”

Keith’s lip curls. “I doubt that.”

“No, trust me! Try it!” He practically shoves his drink into Keith’s hand, so he does as he’s bid and takes a sip.

His lip curls further as he shoves it back, coughing slightly. “I stand by what I said.”

“You’re no fun. Your drink is so booooring.”

“So is yours.”

Lance looks at his cup, brows furrowing in thought as his lip twists. “I suppose you’re right.” His head snaps up then, a smile returning. “We should order a fun drink next.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “I don’t… really know many fun drinks.”

Lance sighs, dropping his forehead to his arms on the bar. “Oh my god, _Keith_ , where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I didn’t say I _wouldn’t_ , I just said I didn’t _know_ any fun drinks.” Then he leans over and nudges Lance’s hip with his own. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go very far. “You pick something for me.”

Lance lifts his head at that, smiling. “You’re on.”

“Nothing gross, please.”

“I would never.” Then his face takes on a thoughtful expression, tapping his chin with a free finger. Keith waits, sipping his drink and letting his gaze roam over the lounge. It’s more full than it was before, by no where close to the other rooms closer to the front of the club. He doesn’t spot any of their friends, but there are plenty of strangers crowding the bar. It just gives him an excuse to be this close to Lance. “I got it!” He says, snapping his fingers and pointing at Keith. “A blue motorcycle!”

Keith raises an eyebrow, looking back to him. “A blue motorcycle?”

“Yeah!” He’s grinning. “You like motorcycles, yeah?” Keith nods hesitantly. “So you should have a drink with motorcycle in the name!”

“What’s in it?” He asks, skeptical.

Lance shrugs. “I donno. A little bit of thing, a little of that. I just know it has some blue liqueur and tequila, but it’s good, trust me.”

Keith isn’t sure if his trust in Lance extends as far as drinks, but he’ll give it a shot anyway. “What’re you going to get?”

He grins. “A long island iced tea.”

“Does that even have any alcohol?”

Lance laughs, shoving him lightly. “Yes, it does, you _ass_.” He lifts his cup, eyes glinting over the top of it. “Race ya.”

Keith lifts his cup. “You’re on.”

Lance finishes chugging his drink first, and Keith blames it on the fact that he’s chugging soda and Lance is chugging juice. They order their new drinks, and Keith is pleasantly surprised, but he puts on a show of being skeptical just to watch Lance squirm.

He loses track of time. They hang out at the bar instead of going to the couches. A couple of their friends come and go, grabbing a drink and chatting before heading back to the dance floor. Lance and Keith stay. They talk about a lot of things and a lot of nothing, shoving each other playfully and eventually getting to the point where the bar is crowded enough that their arms press up against each other. Neither of them make to move. They go through several more drinks, and Keith is feeling it. It blurs the edges of his vision, making it harder to focus, flushes his cheeks, makes him more honest and talkative, and makes his limbs feel like they’re slightly detached, numb. Lance doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

They’re in the middle of an argument over who has a higher tolerance when Lance suddenly just stops talking mid sentence.

It’s so abrupt that it catches Keith’s attention. He looks up from where he had been about to take a sip from his cup, eyebrows raised curiously. Lance is standing there, eyes wide and focused on something over Keith’s shoulder. His jaw has gone slack, lips parted as pure shock is written across his features.

Keith’s brow furrows, lips pursing into a small frown. He turns his head, but he doesn’t see anything besides people. No one he recognizes, and certainly nothing strange enough to warrant that reaction. He looks back, but Lance hasn’t moved. If he has to guess, he’d say Lance doesn’t seem to be breathing. It’s not just shock or surprise, there’s something… akin to fear in his eyes. A level of vulnerability that Keith isn’t used to seeing with him. It worries him, and he feels something clench in his gut.

“Lance?” He says, voice soft and uncertain. Then louder, waving a hand in front of his face. “ _Lance_.”

That snaps him out of it, his eyes darting back to Keith’s and refocusing. His jaw snaps shut, and he’s frowning. He opens his mouth a couple of times, like he’s trying to speak but he’s not sure what he wants to say.

When he does finally manage to find words, his voice is carefully neutral and barely hiding the waver that’s there. “Sorry, I, uh— I need to go.” It comes out rushed, choppy, and he shoves himself away from the bar and his half empty cup.

He barely gets a step before Keith grabs hold of his arm, yanking him to a stop. Lance turns, eyes wide and face so full of barely contained emotions, each passing over his features too fast and colliding together, leaving them unidentifiable. Keith frowns, eyes hard and searching. “Lance, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s— it’s nothing.” He carefully and systematically removes Keith’s grip from his arm, smiling apologetically as he’s already stepping away. “I just— I need to find Hunk, now. I’ll be— it’s fine. I’ll see you later, yeah?” He’s already turning away from him, hiding whatever is playing across his face, and he dives into the crowd with a frantic urgency that leaves Keith reeling, staring after him and frozen in surprise.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, but it’s long enough for people to start jostling him around, trying to reach the bar. He frowns, brows furrowing as he stares down at his drink. He doesn’t want it anymore. The taste has soured in his mouth at Lance’s abrupt departure. They had been having fun. He had… he had actually been enjoying himself. And while he knows enough to doubt he was the cause of whatever freaked Lance out, it bothered him that Lance hadn’t even told him what was wrong. He had just… left. Weren’t they bonding? Why didn’t Lance trust him with— with whatever that was?

He grits his teeth, fingers tightening on the cup as he downs the rest of his drink. It’s tasteless and burns more than it should, but he had paid for it, so he might as well.

Once he’s done, he leaves the cup on the bar and goes to search for Lance.

He finds Shiro first. His brother has been let up into the DJ booth, and Matt is busy showing him everything. Keith can see the smile on his face while he proudly points out this and that, lips moving but words lost on Keith. Shiro watches, his own set of headphones on as he follows Matt’s gestures with his eyes. He looks impressed. Keith waves his hand to catch their attention, and Shiro leans down, removing one side of the headphones to hear Keith as she shouts up at him. He asks if he’s seen Lance, but he has to ask several times before Shiro understands him. He ends up shaking his head, but points out where Allura and Coran are. He gives Keith a curious look, but Keith waves him off before turning to leave.

Allura and Coran are standing along the edges of the room, drinks in hand and leaning against the wall as they talk. They both look up, smiling brightly as Keith approaches. He tries to smile back, but he’s not feeling it. He asks if they’ve seen Lance, and their expressions drop a fraction. Coran explains that he had just come by and grabbed Hunk before towing him out of the room. And that he looked upset.

Allura tells him to check the bathroom, and so he does.

Turns out, the club has several sets of bathrooms scattered around, and not only does it take him a while to find them, but Lance isn’t in the first one he tries, or the second.

He finds Pidge outside the third, leaning against the wall between the men’s and women’s rooms, arms crossed over their chest and a deep scowl on their face. They glare daggers at everyone that passes, holding eye contact until they look away. Out of context, it looks like Pidge is having a bad night. With the knowledge that Lance is probably in the bathroom, they look more like a pissed off bodyguard, and their small size doesn’t detract from that in the slightest.

Their expression is unchanging when they spy Keith.

“Hey,” He says, coming to a stop in front of them.

They grunt, lifting their chin a fraction in greeting. “Hey.”

Keith nods toward the bathroom door. “Lance in there?”

Pidge tilts their chin down just a fraction, but it effectively darkens their expression. “Yes.”

Keith takes a step towards it, reaching out.

“Don’t.” The sharp edge of their tone stops him in his tracks, and he freezes with one hand on the door. He turns to look at them, brows furrowing. They’re holding his gaze, eyes hard and brows pinched. Their lips are scrunched up into a small frown, and Keith knows that look. Pidge is pissed off, but they’re also protective, ready to pounce on anything that might threaten whatever they’re protecting. In this case, Lance.

They stare at each other, neither of them budging, until someone tries to push past Keith. He steps aside as the guy pushes into the bathroom. Keith just gets a glimpse of a tiled corner and not the bathroom himself. He doesn’t see Lance, but he catches his voice and Hunk’s before the door closes and their words are once again lost and voices muffled. Keith steps over to Pidge, mirroring their stance against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What’s going on, Pidge?” He asks, and for a moment he thinks they’re going to resist, but then they sigh, shoulders sagging.

“That’s… it’s not really my place to say.”

“Pidge.”

“Look, I know you’re worried— no, don’t deny it, Keith. I can see it on your face. We’re all worried. The thing is… Lance saw someone here that he really wasn’t prepared to see, and none of us were expecting to see anytime soon, and… she fucked him up pretty bad.”

Keith bristles, back stiffening against the wall. It feels cold, even through his shirt. _He_ feels cold, and it’s an odd contrast to the warmth of the club and the alcohol running through his veins. “It’s an ex girlfriend, isn’t it?” He tries to keep his tone casual and neutral, but it comes out far too soft and rigid to be either.

Pidge nods once. “Yeah, it is.”

“Is this the one that Hunk said broke up with him before his twenty first birthday?”

He’s looking at them, so he sees when Pidge’s lips curl into a small, wry smile. “Hunk told you about that?”

Keith shrugs, the movement causing his arm to rub against Pidge’s. They lean into his touch, seeking comfort. He leans toward them, too. “Only a little. He was telling me about your first club experience.”

“Ah, that. Yeah, not a fun time.”

“So he said.” There’s a long pause before he manages to say. “So… this ex girlfriend…?”

Pidge’s smile instantly drops, face darkening. “Don’t be fooled. He’s over her, and has been for a while, but… she did some pretty shitty things, he was too attached, they were terrible at communicating, and it ended badly. It messed him up pretty bad for a while, but he’s gotten better, it’s just… he wasn’t prepared to see her. It caught him off guard and brought a lot of bad things to the surface.”

“Maybe I can—“

“No.” Pidge says sharply, cutting him off. They shake their head, sighing and continuing in a softer tone. “He just… He needs a moment, Keith. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. He doesn’t want you to think bad of him—“

“I wouldn’t!”

“I know, Keith, but… just let him have a moment to compose himself. He’ll come find us when he’s ready.”

Keith sighs, looking away. “Fine.” He understands. He really does. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting to shove his way in there and— he’s not even sure what he’d do. What _can_ he do? He doesn’t know how to comfort people, let alone _Lance_. He doesn’t know what Lance needs or what would make him feel better. But the memory of Lance’s face is drifting through his mind, and he hates seeing Lance like that. Still… he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

Truth be told, he wants to go find this ex girlfriend and get a good look at whatever monster could make _Lance_ , beautiful, shining, smiling Lance, look like _that_.

And maybe punch her in the face.

But that could just be the alcohol talking.

Perhaps he has some protective instincts after all. He’d certainly feel like punching whoever managed to hurt Pidge or Shiro or even Matt. He doesn’t like seeing anyone hurt his friends, even if it happened long before he met them. Like it or not, and all infatuation aside, Lance is his friend. Though… it might be the infatuation mixed with the alcohol that makes him feel like he’d do anything in order to see Lance smile again.

But he’ll have to wait until Lance is ready.

He hates waiting.

“Any specific reason why you’re waiting out here?” He asks.

Pidge shrugs. “Not really.” There’s that small, wry smile again. “Maybe I’m hoping Nyma will go to the bathroom, so I can give her a piece of my mind.”

“Shouldn’t we wait somewhere else to give Lance some space until he’s ready?”

Pidge sighs then, whole body slumping. “Yeah, I _guess_. I’m just… I’m worried.”

Keith puts an arm around their shoulders, pulling them into his side. “Me, too.” There’s a long silence, and even though they had both agreed that they shouldn’t be waiting here, neither of them make a move to leave. Keith clears his throat. “So… Matt let Shiro up into the DJ booth.”

Pidge’s head snaps up so fast, he’s certain they have whiplash. “ _What?_ He told me I’d be first in the booth!”

And then he’s following a small, angry Pidge as they stomp through the crowd. He casts one last look over his shoulder, chewing his bottom lip. He hopes Lance is alright.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance isn’t alright. Not by a long shot. Not by the longest shot. Not by miles and miles and—

“Hunk, what’s she even _doing_ here?” He groans, tilting his head back until it hits the tile. He’s sitting on the floor in the men’s bathroom, and yeah, gross, but he’s drunk and he’s upset and his legs can’t be assed to hold him up right now.

Hunk is knelt down next to him, carefully avoiding putting his knees or ass on the bathroom floor. Smart man. He has one hand on the wall to balance him, and the other is on Lance’s shoulder. The firm but gentle touch grounds him, and it’s a much needed support.

“I dunno, man.” Hunk says, voice calm and soothing on Lance’s frazzled nerves. “Maybe she just came home to visit her family? That wouldn’t be too weird.” Ah, there he is. Always the voice of reason. And thinking about it logically, yeah, that makes sense. But Lance isn’t really a fan of logic right now.

“But why is she _here_?” He says with more emphasis, gesturing wildly to the bathroom and the club beyond.

Hunk shrugs, giving him a small, barely there smile. Lance knows he’s not feeling it, but he’s trying to smile for him like it’s the last anchor keeping him from drifting away into the chaotic storm of his own damn emotions. “She was always more of a partier than we were. It’s not really surprising that she’s here.”

“But Huuunk,” Lance whines, lifting his head to stare at Hunk, brows furrowing and bottom lip sticking out. It’s quivering, and it’s not entirely an act. His eyes are still burning from the few tears he’s already shed. “Why _tonight_? It’s not _fair_. She looked _happy_! Like what happened doesn’t even _bother_ her! Like she doesn’t think about me _at all_!”

Hunk frowns then, but it’s more pensive than anything. “But Lance… _you_ were happy until you saw her, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but—“

“And do _you_ think about her all the time?”

“ _No_ , but—“

“Then what’s the problem?”

Lance huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “Why’re you defending her?” He mumbles the accusation.

“What? I’m not!” And when Lance glances up at him, he sees the offense in Hunk’s expression. He sighs, shaking his head. His girp on Lance’s shoulder tightens. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, kinder, and calms his nerves. “I’m not defending her, dude. You _know_ how I felt— how I _feel_ about her. You know I never really liked her to begin with.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lance mumbles, unable to hide the wry smile that curves his lips. After the worst of the break up had passed, Hunk hadn’t hesitated to give him his ‘I told you so’ speech.

“So you know that I’d never defend her after what she did to you. What I _am_ trying to say, is that you shouldn’t be upset!” He holds up a finger to Lance’s lips when he opens his mouth to protest, effectively cutting him off. Lance scowls at him. “That’s _not_ to say that you don’t have a right to be upset, because you do, _but_ you’ve moved past her, dude. You don’t think about her, you’ve gotten over her, you’ve _healed_ in so many ways, and I’d hate to see your night ruined just because she’s here. She doesn’t _deserve_ to have that kinda power over you, Lance. Don’t give her the satisfaction. Don’t let her bring you down.”

Lance looks up at him, eyes burning and vision wavering— and oh god, he’s going to cry again. But that doesn’t stop him from giving his best friend a small smile and whispering, “Thanks, Hunk.” And then his voice cracks right as the first tear falls.

He hastily wipes it away, sniffling back the snot that’s welling up in his nose and wiping his eyes to keep more tears from fully forming. Hunk sighs, giving up his fight and sitting on the floor next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “No problem, buddy. Let it out, and when you’ve calmed down, we can go hang out with the others.”

Lance leans into him, groaning. “Oh god, Keith is probably wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“I’m sure he’d understand. He’s a lot nicer than you usually give him credit for.”

“I basically just freaked out on him and ran away! We were having a good time, Hunk! And I ruined it!”

“You didn’t ruin it, Lance. I’m sure he’s just worried.”

“That’s wooorse.”

He tightens his grip around his shoulders, shaking him slightly. “We’re all here for you, buddy. Even Keith.”

“I don’t want to talk to him about Nyma…” He grumbles, smooshing his face against Hunk’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to.”

“What if he asks?”

“Just tell him you’re not ready to talk about it. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Maybe…”

He really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk to Keith about his baggage, let alone _ex girlfriend_ baggage. Especially since it happened over a year ago and he’s apparently still freaking out about it… But that’s not fair. He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t. He’s gotten over her and moved past it, just like Hunk had said. He’s just… caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting to see her, and when he had, just… all the emotions that he’d long since buried came roaring to the surface. It had been too much. It’s _still_ too much, but he’s getting a better handle on himself now that the shock is fading. He _knows_ he’s being ridiculous, hiding out in the bathroom from an ex girlfriend who he never wants to see again and who probably doesn’t want anything to do with him, and he kind of hates himself a little more for acting this way.

Those feelings of shame and self-deprecating hate give him the strength and motivation to pull himself together. He’ll be _damned_ if he lets Nyma ruin tonight for him. Tonight’s all about his friends. He doesn’t want to ruin their night either. Oh god, both times he’s dragged Hunk to a club, he’s ended up comforting him in the bathroom over Nyma. What an awful track record. He _refuses_ to ruin Hunk’s night _again_.

He had been having fun with Keith. A lot of fun actually. They had been laughing, and Keith had been standing so close, and he’d really been enjoying being able to casually lean into him because hey, he’s a touchy guy, okay? But the sight of Keith’s smile, so close and so entirely focused on him, had been doing pleasant things to his insides. He finds it hard to believe _that’s_ the guy he was convinced he hated just a couple months ago.

All of a sudden, he wants nothing more than to just _be_ with Keith. He just… wants to find him and go back to what they were doing and how they were like before Lance had seen _her_. He loves Hunk. He really does. And he can’t even begin to explain what his presence is doing to calm his nerves. And he loves Pidge, and he loves how they’re so fiercely protective of him, going so far as to threaten to claw out Nyma’s eyes on the dance floor. He has great friends, to be honest, but he really just wants to be with Keith.

Keith wasn’t there for the Nyma incident. He won’t remind Lance of what it was like back then. He’s new and exciting, and Lance finds it hard to believe that he’ll look at him with pity. He really fucking hopes Keith doesn’t pity him. If he does, all Lance has to do is challenge him to a dance off and their dynamic will be restored. He _likes_ their dynamic. He takes comfort in it. And even as they get closer, that strangely competitive and teasing dynamic is still there. He doesn’t want it any other way.

Right now, he really wants that. He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but he really feels like right now, in this moment, Keith is the only thing that can make him feel _normal_ again.

But he’s got to pull his shit together before he can go and find him.

He’s not sure how long they stay in the bathroom, but Hunk stays with him the whole time, talking with him and taking his mind off of everything in ways that only Hunk can. They get a wide array of reactions. Some of them are strange looks, to which Hunk glares until they look away, but more often than not, the guys try to talk to them. It’s usually amusing conversation, and it’s a welcome distraction.

One dude stumbles to the stall, takes one look at Lance, and says, “Too much vodka. What’s up with you, bruh?” To which Lance replies, “Ex girlfriend.” And the guy just nods, nearly losing his balance in the process, gives him a thumbs up, and says “Don’t worry about it, dude. You’re a good looking guys. Bitch musta been cray.” Before disappearing in the stall.

By the time they leave the bathroom, Lance is feeling much better. He’s still a little guarded and on edge, but he’s ready and determined to get his night back on track. First stop? The bar. He’s a little relieved that Keith isn’t there anymore, and he convinces Hunk to do a run of shots with him. Hunk agrees reluctantly, but only after making Lance agree that they’ll be his last drinks of the night.

Three shots of cheap tequila each later, Lance is _ready_. He stumbles a little as he walks, but his limbs are pleasantly numb, the beat of the music is thrumming through his body, and he’s ready to just _dance_ and _forget_. His vision isn’t necessarily blurry, but it’s hard as fuck to focus. As the shots start to trickle their way into his system, any buzz he lost while in the bathroom comes surging back and then some.

They find Keith near the DJ booth, standing aside and watching with amusement as Shiro and Pidge poke at and fight over things on Matt’s sound boards. Every time Shiro reaches for something, Pidge slaps at his hand, glaring up at him. He looks infinitely amused by this, and Matt is just standing to the side, shaking his head and keeping an eye on his laptop.

As soon as he sees Keith, his vision narrows down and something that had been tight in his chest loosens. He feels like he can _breathe_ again, which is concerning, seeing as he hadn’t realized that he’d been having trouble before.

When they reach where he’s standing, Lance throws an arm over his shoulder, placing his other hand on his own hip. “What’s going on here?” He says, proud with how casual he sounds, despite how thick his tongue feels. He nods toward the DJ booth, staring at the three there instead of looking at Keith.

He could feel Keith jump and then relax, and he can see him staring at him, but Lance isn’t quite ready to meet his eyes. Not yet. Eventually, he looks away. “Pidge was mad Matt let Shiro up into the booth first. I think he’s now regretting letting either of them up there at all.”

“Aww, I wanted to see the equipment.” Hunk says, coming up on Lance’s other side. He stares up at the booth longingly and mutters, “No one ever lets me touch the equipment.”

Lance pats his arm with his free hand. “All in good time, buddy.” Then he shakes Keith a little with the arm he has resting over his shoulders. He’s not quite being subtle about using him for balance. “So Keithy boy, my dude, my man, did I miss anything?”

Keith shakes his head, gesturing toward the booth. “Just this.” Then Lance can see him turn to look at him again, and he’s afraid of what expression might be there. Especially when Keith’s voice is suddenly soft and so filled concern. “Are you alright?”

Lance smiles then, a small sad smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes, and answers in a voice just as soft. “I wasn’t, but I am now. And I will be.” He steels himself, fixing that smile in place, and looks at Keith. The concern in his voice is reflected in his eyes, and his thick brows are pinched just a little, his lips pursed into a small, pouting frown. Something in Lance’s heart twists, and a warmth fills his chest. His smile becomes a little more genuine as he tilts his head. “Don’t worry about it, Keith. I’m fine.”

His eyes search Lance’s for a moment before he looks away, chewing on his bottom lip so subtly that Lance wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it. “Do you want to… talk about it? Or whatever?”

At that, Lance throws his head back and laughs. “Keith, buddy, I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t. I’m so _done_ talking about it. I just want to forget about it and have fun, you know?”

And then Keith’s expression softens and Lance can feel him relax a little. “Yeah, okay.”

“So let’s go dance!” He says, pulling his arm back to put his hands on Keith’s shoulders and spinning him around.

Keith almost immediately digs his heels into the floor, turning his head back, eyes blown wide with sudden panic. “But what about—“

“They’ll catch up.”

“But—“

“Keith! We’re dancers! We’re at a club! I’m tired of _thinking_. Let’s just cut loose and dance, for fuck’s sake.”

Keith is caught between scowling and looking panicked, and honestly, it’s one of the cutest things Lance has ever seen. He’s got some damn attractive friends. “Hunk! We’re going to go ahead! Meet us on the dance floor!” He calls over his shoulder, and catches sight of Hunk looking at them fondly and waving them away. He turns back around in time to see Keith’s pleading look he sends Hunk’s way, and Lance laughs.

Keith eventually stops resisting, and Lance pulls ahead of him, taking him by the arm and guiding him through the crowd. He doesn’t think Keith will just leave him at this point, but touching him, feeling his presence behind him, is comforting. He loves all his friends, but there’s just… _something_ about Keith that makes him feel better right now, and he craves that. He’s grateful for the chance to be alone with him. Even if that’s in the middle of a crowded club.

He’s pushing through the thick of the crowd with Keith in tow, looking for a good stop to stop and claim some space for themselves, when the people in front of him part and he sees _her_.

He freezes in his tracks, grip on Keith’s arm tightening. His breath hitches as his throat locks up.

She’s beautiful. She always has been, and no matter how many shitty things she did, and no matter how messy their break up was, that won’t detract from it. She’s _gorgeous_. Her completion is dark, club lights highlighting the spots where vitiligo has lightened parts of her skin. Her dreads are still dyed blonde, but her natural color is coming through at the roots, giving her hair the same two toned look that her skin has. She’s wearing a blue dress that fits to all the curves of her body.

 _Fuck_ , she’s gorgeous, and his heart clenches painfully at the sight of her. She was his once. He gave her everything, she didn’t want it, and she broke him. Now she’s here, smiling and laughing with her friends like none of it every happened. With no clue that Lance is there, world crumbling around him.

Hunk is right, of course. He _shouldn’t_ let her have this power over him, because he _is_ over her. But seeing her for the first time since their break up just brings up so many emotions he had thought were long gone. They twist unpleasantly inside of him, fighting with his desire to simply let it go.

God, he’s a mess.

With some effort, he rips his eyes away from her, letting go of Keith’s arm and spinning back around. “Not this way…” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not able to look at Keith, so he stares down and off to the side, hoping, _praying_ that Keith won’t question it.

But of course Keith isn’t stupid. It doesn’t take a genius to see his sudden change in attitude.

When he risks a glance up, Keith is staring over his shoulder beyond him, toward where Nyma is. He’s not sure Keith will even be able to pick her out of the crowd. He doesn’t know how much Keith knows. Hell, he’s not even sure Keith knows that this whole thing is because _ex problems_. But judging from his face, he knows enough.

His brows are furrowed, lips twisting into a scowl as he glares at the crowd. His gaze is unmoving, eyes fierce and sparking, and Lance wonders if he’s zeroed in on her. Is he even looking at the right girl? Does he know it’s a girl?

Lance glances over his shoulder, following Keith gaze, and yup, she’s still there. Laughing and tossing several locks of hair over her shoulder in that flippant way that he had once found endearing.

He feels unfocused, everything spins, and he’s starting to regret those last three shots.

He’s not sure how it happened, but Keith has suddenly taken his arm, tugging him away. He stumbles after him as they weave through the crowd. Finding a space carved out, they take the floor.

Keith turns to face him then, hand still on his arm. Without thinking, Lance starts to turn, towards where he knows Nyma is standing, just to see if she’s still in view or if they’re safely away. But then Keith is tugging at his arm, pulling his attention back. Lance stares at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

Keith scowls at him, lips set into a firm line as he says loud enough to be heard over the music, “Don’t you dare look back.” And Lance hunches his shoulders, looking away and feeling guilty. He didn’t think Keith could read him that well. When he glances up through his lashes, Keith’s expression has softened, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

He drops his hand from Lance’s arm and takes a step back, already swaying a little to the music. His feet move, driven by the beat, and his head and shoulders bob along with it. His arms look like he’s not quite sure what to do with them. He looks like he’s trying to mimic what the people around him are doing, but the pained expression on his face makes it look so incredibly awkward.

Lance doesn’t get it. He’s _seen_ Keith dance before, dozens of times. Keith is always full of confidence when he dances, so certain and sure of his movements. Lance isn’t sure he’d ever notice if Keith fucked up, because the guy is just so… _sure_ about everything he does. And he does it all with such a cool calm, like nothing he’s doing is actually impressive and he would never do anything less. It’s always been frustrating and irritating, but since working with him, Lance has found a strange appreciation for it.

It’s… kind of endearing to see him like this now. All that confidence and calm is gone, not a trace of it left alive. He looks as awkward and unsure as someone who’s never danced before in their life. He looks… self conscious. And that’s not something Lance is used to seeing on him. He’s not sure he likes it. Keith is so great at _everything_ , and Lance doesn’t think he should ever feel self conscious about something he’s so incredibly talented with like dancing.

Yet here he is, in front of him, dancing like it pains him. He has the beat, sure, but he’s so incredibly rigid and looks like he’s afraid of actually doing anything besides swaying back and forth and awkwardly moving his arms.

And yet he’s doing it under Lance’s full attention in an attempt to distract him, no matter how uncomfortable he is.

Lance feels the small smile curve his lips as a touch of fondness fills his chest. Before he really realizes what he’s doing, he’s stepping forward into Keith’s space, hands sliding to rest on his hips as he had done earlier. His grip is firm as he tries to wiggle Keith’s hips in an attempt to get him to loosen up. He knows freestyle isn’t the guy’s strong suit, but this is ridiculous. He _knows_ Keith can do so much more.

“You’re holding back.” He says, voice laced with amusement.

Keith glares up at him, face twisted into that scowl that he knows so well. The lighting makes it hard to see any sort of blush, but he can tell from the extra lines around his lips and eyes that he’s embarrassed.

“Shut up and dance with me.” He snaps, and it’s such a needlessly aggressive demand and so completely _Keith_ that Lance finds himself grinning, and this time he can feel it reaching his eyes.

This is what he needed, what he had been _craving_. Keith just has this uncanny ability to make him forget his problems and just feel like _himself_ again. And he does it just by being _Keith_.

 _This guy is my destiny_.

The thought comes unbidden from the recesses of his mind, startling him. He blames in on the alcohol, hazing his mind and making him needlessly sentimental. He’s been known to be an emotional drunk, and tonight’s been an emotional night. He _really_ probably shouldn’t have had those last few shots.

But still… that thought has a nice ring to it. He likes to think he was meant to meet all of this friends, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, that maybe Keith _is_ part of his destiny, too. Keith helped him get into regionals, after all. Keith drives him to be a better dancer. Keith fits so seamlessly into his group of friends. Keith is the only person who’s managed to dance as a duo with him. And now Keith is here, making him forget about all the negative emotions that plague him and letting him just live in the moment.

Maybe the D in room 4D stands for destiny?

…Alright, now he’s getting a little ridiculous. He’s _definitely_ had too much to drink. Or maybe it’s just all hitting him now? Either way, his thoughts are getting way too deep and way too emotional and way too philosophical for a club night, so he forces himself to focus on the guy standing right in front of him, beautiful and scowly.

Keith stares at his shit eating grin for only a few seconds before snapping, “Shut up!” And Lance can feel him bristling, embarrassment coloring his features. Lance just grins because he hadn’t _said_ anything, but he thinks it’s hilarious that Keith can read so far into his expressions. Lance chuckles, and Keith must be able to tell that it’s not mocking, because his expression softens. He attempts a smile, but it’s so endearingly shy, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, just barely heard above the music. “And just… dance with me.”

And so they dance, but it’s not like it was earlier, when their dances are throw backs to ridiculous things with wild movements and high energy. Their movements now are smaller, more confined. Lance doesn’t move his hands from Keith’s hips, and Keith doesn’t push him away. His own hands come to rest on Lance’s arms, and while they sway and roll to the pulse of the driving beat, they seem to get impossibly closer.

Lance wants to blame it on the crowd, pushing in on them from all sides. He wants to blame it on the alcohol buzzing through his system and making his limbs tingle. He wants to blame it on Keith’s eyes, so dark yet flashing so impossibly purple in the club lights. He wants to blame it on everything, but the fact remains that something has shifted. It’s so small, so subtle, so indescribable and impossible to pin point, but it shifts, and suddenly the atmosphere between them has changed.

They’re so close that Lance can feel Keith’s body whenever he rolls his, and it’s not long before Keith picks up on the movement and they’re moving together, dancing the same, moving as one. He feels the beat through the floor, through the air, through Keith, connecting them and pulsing through his very core.

He doesn’t notice the distance closing, but suddenly Keith is so, so close. He can practically taste the rum on his breath. Their eyes lock and he can’t look away. Keith’s irises, flashing so many different shades and dark with shadows, draw him in, refusing to let him go. He finds it hard to focus on anything else. Everything around them fizzles out of existence as his vision tunnels in on Keith’s face. His pale, flawless skin. His hair pulled back in that pony tail that just _does_ things to him, bangs falling across his forehead and stuck to his temples with sweat. His small, sharp nose. Those ridiculously alluring lips…

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until his eyes dart upwards, and for a moment he panics, realizing that Keith had seen him staring at his lips. But then Keith’s eyes are flickering down to his own mouth and Lance feels his heart stop in his chest, his breath shuttering out.

Then Keith is leaning forward, chests pressing together as he does so. Lance is frozen, unable to move as Keith stares at him through half lidded eyes. His gaze flickers downward as their noses brush, and Lance feels electricity spark through that small, small tender touch. He can taste Keith’s breath now, feel it fanning out across his lips, and he realizes his own are hanging open, parted slightly. In shock? Anticipation? He doesn’t know.

Keith tilts his chin upward, a small, sharp movement that brushes his bottom lip against Lance’s top lip. It’s such a small, tender touch, so light and fleeting and makes Lance’s chest clench, craving _more_. But Keith pulls back a fraction, letting their noses rest against each other, lips hovering mere centimeters away from Lances.

For just a moment, time stands still, and he’s certain Keith is holding his breath, too.

He doesn’t know who moves first, but suddenly there’s lips against his, and he’s kissing Keith.

 _Holy shit_ , he’s kissing _Keith_.

It starts out soft and hesitant but eager, lips sliding together, sharing small, short kisses, probably too wet and far too sloppy, heads bobbing as their lips part slightly, slotting together. Their bodies still move together, swaying to the beat, a slave to it, unable to let it go.

Then Keith’s hands slide up his arms, up his neck, carding through his hair, cupping his head and tilting it slightly to better fit their lips together. Out of their own accord, his fingers tighten on Keith’s hips, jerking him forward to press them firmly together. He gasps at the sudden roughness, and Lance takes the opportunity to slide his tongue past his lips, licking into his mouth. Keith only hesitates for a moment before he’s responding, arms tightening and holding Lance’s head firmly in place. Lance’s hands slide around his waist, holding onto him just as tight, like he’s the only thing anchoring him to this reality, and Lance desperately doesn’t want to let him go.

Everything else fades away. He feels like they’re alone in a writhing, twisting sea with only each other to keep themselves afloat. And while Keith is the only thing keeping him anchored, he also feels like he’s stealing his breath away. He’s drowning, gasping, and being swept away by those dark eyes, soft lips, a greedy tongue, rough hands, and firm body. It’s consuming him, washing over him and dragging him under.

Their kiss is sloppy, messy, and bordering on desperate, lips groping and tongues searching with a hunger that’s dizzying, but feels so, so good. He can’t get enough. In that moment, he needs Keith like he needs air, but the more he breathes him in, the more he’s drowning.

He’s drowning, but he thinks this is a nice way to die.

Later, after the fact, there will be many things about that night that blur in his memory with time and the haze of alcohol.

He’ll remember how Pidge came barreling through the crowd to collide with them, startling them apart.

He’ll remember how Keith let go of him like he had been burned, dark eyes wide in panic even as he reverently licked his lips.

He’ll remember a similar panic rising up in his gut, threatening nausea for the umpteenth time that night.

He’ll remember the gang gathering and dancing. He’ll remember Allura tugging him along to dance with her, but all the while he’d be caught between avoiding looking at Keith and finding his eyes drawn to him.

He’ll remember how he had completely forgotten about Nyma

He’ll remember how, somehow, Keith had gotten ahold of one of the glow bracelets, and had looked up at him shyly through his lashes as he slipped it onto his wrist.

He’ll remember how he had downed one last drink before asking Hunk to sit outside with him to clear his head with fresh air.

He’ll remember piling into Pidge’s van at the end of the night, climbing into the back seat and pressing his forehead against the window.

He won’t remember much of the car ride, just the bumps in the road and the cool of the glass against his skin, the blur of voices, and actively trying not to vomit.

He won’t remember how long it took to get to Pidge and Hunk’s apartment, but he would vaguely remember being helped up the stairs and collapsing on the couch before passing out.

The next morning he’ll wake in pain, from both his head and his gut, and will hurry to the bathroom only to find that he had slept with his shoes on and Pidge had drawn a dick on his forehead.

Hunk will make a light breakfast when he and Pidge stumble out of their rooms, and there’ll be little conversation and a lot of coffee.

Too tired to scrub his face, he’ll borrow a headband from Hunk to hide Pidge’s artwork and head home.

Once there, he’ll trudge to his room and take a long hot shower before collapsing onto his bed.

And there, suffering between a pounding head and rolling stomach, he’ll think about the kiss. He won’t remember details, he won’t remember who initiated it, and the events will blur in his mind’s eye, but he’ll remember some things. He’ll remember how he thought Keith’s lips were soft. He’ll remember grabbing him desperately. He’ll remember Keith running his fingers through his hair and moaning into his mouth. He’ll remember being pressed up against him and gasping for air as he drowned.

He’ll remember that, at the time, he had liked it. He had liked it a lot.

Staring at pale stars on his ceiling, looking as sickly in the daylight as he feels, he’ll whisper, “What the fuck?” And then again, softer, and with more desperation, “ _What the fuck?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, my goal is to make you think of that scene of this fic every time you hear the song. Not even sorry ;))
> 
> And now we're officially halfway done with this fic!
> 
> Nyma's design is 100% Sora's ideas, and I think she's absolutely _gorgeous_. I also just want to say that Nyma is _not_ a bad person, but she and Lance had a relationship that lacked a lot of crucial communication that eventually led to Lance getting hurt and pretty messed up when it comes to relationships. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't gone over to the SUADWM tumblr and seen Coran's main dance style, you totally should, because it's one of our favorites.
> 
> And the art for this chapter is by far my favorite so far. Sora has managed to capture everything so, so perfectly. She _does_ read all of the comments here and appreciates your kind words as much as I do, but also feel free to head over to her tumblr and reblog her art or leave her some kind comments.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support! We really do appreciate everything more than words can say. We'll see you guys after season 2!
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/156091116879/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-8-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	9. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk looks up, rubbing the back of his neck. “It means you’re, you know, _you_ , and with Keith coming over tonight, I don’t want it to be awkward… you know?”
> 
> “Why would it be awkward? I just told you I was gonna treat him normally!”
> 
> “He means he doesn’t want to deal with your unresolved sexual tension.” Pidge cuts in matter-of-factly.
> 
> “There’s nothing to resolve! We’re just friends!” They both give him blank stares, and he glares at them. “I’m serious! Just friends, and I’ll be totally normal. You’ll see. No awkwardness, no tension. I’ll be chill. Cool as ice. I got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has actually been done for a while now, but Sora has been working on her portfolio for her application for animation school, and this is our child, so I wasn't about to update without her. Everyone should be very proud of her. I know I am ^^
> 
> So here begins what I kind of refer to as "Shut Up and Dance With Me: Part 2". The reason being, the first half of this fic was a focus on the "rivals to friends" and building up to auditions, while the second half will focus on the "friends to lovers" and a building up to regionals. It's a very subtle shift, but I certainly feel it while writing.
> 
> Happy reading!

“Piiiiidge! What am I going to dooooo?” He whines, flopping his arms a little for added effect. He’s lying on their living room floor, arms sprawled out on either side of him and feet propped up on the coffee table.

“You’re going to man up.” They say, sounding bored. He doesn’t blame them. He’s been whining like this for a while now. He just can’t stop. It’s on his mind, and so he’s going to talk about it. End of story. Luckily, his friends are used to him by now. Besides, he listens to Hunk when he talks about his new recipes or inventions, and he listens to Pidge when they’re excited about all their tech mumbo jumbo or ranting about their grad school classes. The least they can do it listen to Lance when his world is a confusing mess.

It’s what friends are for.

“You hate that phrase…” He mumbles.

Pidge makes a sound that sounds a lot like “ _Huyup_ ,” as they toss a grape at him from their spot on the couch. At the sound, Lance glances up in time to see the grape and shifts his head just a little to catch it easily in his mouth. He’s a grape catching _champ_.

“You’re right, I do.” They said idly, eating their own grape as they idly scroll through their phone, both legs pulled up onto the couch as they nest in the corner. “But in this case, I’m using the word ‘man’ in reference to its use as a short for ‘mankind’ and the implications of being an adult.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m not telling you to be a man. I’m telling you to grow the fuck up and don’t be a child.”

“I’m not a child!” He whines, limbs flopping. That earns him a raised brow and a barely contained upturn of their lips.

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Surrounded by _sass_.”

“You chose this life.”

“This life chose me.”

Pidge makes a noncommittal grunt and heaves another grape his way. He shifts to catch it, but this one bounces off his cheek and rolls across the floor. He snorts and grabs for it, blowing it off before popping it in his mouth.

“Your aim sucks.”

“You suck.”

“I knooow, Pidge! That’s my _problem_! So can we get back to the whole _what should I do_ thing?”

“I already told you.”

“Telling me to man up isn’t an answer, Pidge.”

Pidge snorts. “What I _mean_ , Lance, is that you’re an adult. _He’s_ an adult. Adults kiss people. Adults at clubs kiss people. Adult friends sometimes kiss each other. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t _want_ it to mean anything.” They pause, looking up from their phone to gaze at him owlishly, both eyebrows raised. “ _Do_ you want it to mean something?”

“No!” He snaps, propping himself up on his elbows to glare at Pidge. Then again… Yes? Maybe… He doesn’t know. At this point, he’s not really sure. It’s only been five days since the club, and he’s still a mess about the whole thing. Easiest answer to go with is no. No, he doesn’t want it to mean anything. He doesn’t want it to ruin their budding friendship. He doesn’t want it to ruin their budding partnership. He doesn’t want to ruin his chances at regionals. He’s not throwing away this chance. He’s never throwing away a chance to further his career. Never again.

And he’s just… he’s just not sure if he _wants_ anything as serious as a relationship— oh god, a _relationship_. Who was talking about relationships? It was just a kiss! A kiss at a club! A kiss in the heat of the moment when they were both drunk and dancing and it just felt right at the time!

Pidge is right. It _doesn’t_ have to mean anything.

Still… he can’t stop thinking about how he had _liked_ it.

Unfortunately, those thoughts are being overlapped with the knowledge that the whole kiss thing might have ruined his relationship with Keith. They haven’t exactly _talked_ about it. Lance can’t quite get up the courage to. He’d much rather just pretend like it never happened. Like it was just a thing that happened in the dark at a club for like, two seconds… five seconds… maybe like, thirty, but who was counting? And Keith didn’t really seem like he was willing to bring it up either.

Unfortunately, the whole ‘pretend like it never happened’ thing is making things _really fucking awkward_.

They had a practice room reserved on Monday, but Keith texted him and said he was asked to pick up a shift at work, so he wouldn’t make it. Lance isn’t sure if he believes that or if it was just an excuse to give each other space, but at the time, he wasn’t exactly complaining. He didn’t think he was ready to see Keith, alone, in a room, by themselves.

Unfortunately, that meant the first time he saw Keith since the kiss was at their regular Wednesday lesson with Shiro and Allura. Neither of them backed out of that one, and at least on his side, it was entirely because of his fear of disappointing them. He took some solace in the fact that Keith seemed just as awkward as he felt. Luckily, Shiro and Allura seemed to read the atmosphere and had them focus more on lifts and actual dance moves instead of the more… intimate things. He was grateful for that.

He’s also grateful for the fact that they both looked extremely perplexed at the tense atmosphere between him and Keith, leading him to the conclusion that Shiro doesn’t know he kissed his brother. _Thank god_.

Pidge, on the other hand, knows, seeing as they were the one who found them making out on the dance floor. And because they’re the only one that knows, they get to be subject to Lance’s complaints.

“I don’t!” Lance insists when Pidge just keeps staring at him blankly. He throws his hands up in the air for emphasis. “I don’t want it to mean anything! It was just a kiss! I’m an adult! I can kiss people at clubs—!” He cuts himself off, blinking. “Oh… nice advice, Pidge.”

Pidge’s lips curl into a small smile as they look back down at their phone and blindly toss a grape at him. “No problem.” Lance catches it and shoved it in his mouth. “So what’s the problem then?”

He flops back down to the floor. “The problem is it’s awkward! I think I fucked up!”

“Didn’t you say _Keith_ was the one who kissed you?”

“Yes! But…” He groans loudly, rubbing his hands down his face and mumbles through his fingers. “But I don’t really remember who started it. We were just… kissing?”

“So I don’t really see the problem.” Another grape throw. Another mouth catch. Score another point for Lance.

“The problem is it’s awkward!” He gasps, managing to inhale his half chewed grape. He abruptly rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow as he coughs and pounds his chest. “Pidge!” He says when he recovers, looking at them with wide, horrified eyes. “What if he’s _straight?_ What if he’s being awkward with me because he straight and I totally forced a dude kiss on him? I mean, I kind of assume that I made him uncomfortable, but what if I made him _doubly_ uncomfortable—“

“Oh my _god_.” Pidge groans, rolling their eyes so hard that their whole head gets into it. They sit up a little straighter and reach up a hand, swatting up the wall until they hit the edge of the picture frame hanging above the couch. Once they make contact, they swat a little harder, knocking the corner enough to send the whole frame askew. He’s kind of surprised it didn’t just fall off the wall. Slouching back into the couch and looking at their phone, Pidge vaguely waves a hand at their handiwork. “Lance, is that picture straight?”

Lance cocks an eyebrow, staring at them incredulously. “Uh, _no_ , Pidge you just knocked it—“

“Exactly,” They say, cutting him off. “Neither is Keith.”

Lance feels his entire face go slack, eyebrows rising to his hairline as his mouth falls open into a small circle of realization. A strange heat rises up his neck, and his chest flutters with… something. “Oh…”

“Yeah. I doubt he’s uncomfortable because you’re a dude.”

“Well…” He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “That doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ uncomfortable around me…”

“Lance,” Pidge says, somehow turning his name into a sigh. “Has it occurred to you that the reason _he’s_ awkward about it might be because _you’re_ awkward about it?” They level him with a flat stare, and he opens his mouth to respond. Then his brows furrow, and he snaps it shut.

“Um…”

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Look, if it really doesn’t mean anything, then _act_ like it doesn’t mean anything. If you act on edge around him all the time, he’s going to think you hate him or something—“

“I don’t!”

“Then treat him normally and stop being a big baby about this whole thing.”

“Not a baby…” He grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and lying back on the floor, puffing out his cheeks as he turns his head to the side.

Treat him normally, huh? He can do that. Treat Keith like normal, Keith will relax, which will make Lance relax, and then they can _actually_ be normal again. Then they can find a song, choreograph a routine, go to regionals, and make names for themselves. And most importantly, stay friends. Because Lance actually _likes_ having Keith as a friend. He’s a cool dude. Not that he’ll ever _tell_ Keith that.

But treat him normally? Yeah, Lance can do that.

“So do you think he’s hot?”

Lance isn’t eating a grape at the moment, but that doesn’t stop him from choking on air. He props himself up again. “ _What?_ ”

Pidge is looking at him, amusement in their small smile and both eyebrows raised. “Keith, do you think he’s hot?”

Lance snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning more on one elbow to wave his other hand vaguely in the air. “I think all my friends are hot! I’m friends with some really pretty people.”

“Mhmm.” Their smile quirks a fraction wider.

“I mean it! Look at Hunk! He’s a gorgeous chunk of man! Gorgeous and beautiful, inside and out. And do I _really_ need to bring up Shiro and Allura? I mean, they pretty much hold the top spots for most beautiful people. And Coran? I mean, yeah, he’s the oldest of us, but he pretty much holds the spot for most handsome and poised. And _you_ ,” He glares as he points a finger at them.

Their smile drops, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare…” They whisper.

“ _You_ ,” He repeats, jerking his finger toward them for emphasis as he speaks in a low, threatening voice. “Are _adorable_.”

“Lance,” Their voice is all warning.

“I mean it, Pidge! You’re the cutest fucking human on the entire planet—“ He cuts himself off with a loud yelp of surprise as Pidge tosses their phone and grape bowl aside and launches themselves at him.

He tries to scramble backwards, but it’s too late. They slide across the coffee table and land on top of him, scrambling across him. He’s screaming, trying to push them off, but they’re small and slippery as they struggle to coil their body around him and get him into a headlock.

“You take that back!”

“Never!”

Lance isn’t sure how long they spend rolling around on the floor, but by the time Hunk gets home, he’s exhausted, sweating, sore, and has several bite and claw marks because Pidge fights dirty like the little troll they are.

“Hunk! Save me! S.O.S! Life alert!” Lance calls the second he hears the door open. Much to his dismay, Hunk takes his time closing the door, kicking off his shoes, and setting some grocery bags in the kitchen before heading into the living room. When he does, he stops and stares.

Pidge has their legs locked around his rib cage, squeezing the life out of him, and their arms putting him in a headlock. He has one hand wrapped around their arm, trying to pull it off his neck, and his other hand is behind him, fingers curled into their hair. He’s lying on top of them, having using his superior weight to flip on top of them and hoping he could get them to let go by crushing their lungs. But apparently they’re made out of tougher stuff. Like pure determination, stubbornness, and rage compact into one tiny human.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Hunk asks, not making any moves to come to his rescue.

“I called them cute and now they’re trying to kill me!” He screeches, nails digging into their arm. They retaliate by biting his shoulder. He yelps. “ _Ow!_ They’re _biting_ me, Hunk!”

“Take it back!”

“No!”

“Awww, but Pidge _is_ cute.”

Pidge freezes, and the suddenness of it cause Lance to still. The moment only lasts a second before Pidge has detached themselves from him, wiggles out from under him, and launches themselves at Hunk. The poor guy stares, wide eyed as Pidge scrambles toward him on all fours, trying to get their feet under them. He throws up his hands and scrambles back several steps.

Lance uses his newfound freedom to launch himself after them, wrapping them up in his longer limbs and bringing them back to the floor. They claw the carpet, trying to get away from him, but it gets them no where.

“I got you, Hunk!” Lance says, and Hunk sighs, entire body relaxing.

“Thanks, buddy.” He crouches in front of Pidge. “But really, Pidge. You’re adorable.” He says, reaching out to ruffle their hair.

They make an odd growling sound and swipe at him. There’s the loud sound of flesh slapping flesh, followed up by Hunk’s yelp, and the big guy is suddenly cradling his hand to his chest.

“Take it back!” They shout.

“Accept it!” Lance shouts louder.

“No!”

“Yes!”

Pidge thrashes wildly, but Lance uses his weight and position to his advantage to keep them pinned. They finally groan loudly, entire body going slack, arms stretched out in front of them as they bury their face into the carpet. “You guys are the worst.”

Hunk pats their head. “We love you, too.”

Lance sighs, letting his body go lax, which only crushes Pidge a little more and they let out a grunt of annoyance.

“Uh, so, not that I’m particularly surprised to come home to find you guys like this, but what started it this time?” Hunk asks.

Pidge lifts a hand, gesturing at Lance with a thumb over their shoulder. “I asked Lance if he thinks Keith is hot, and he made up a bullshit cover by saying all his friends are hot.”

Lance lets them go, pushing himself to his knees and throwing his arms up in the air. “They are! I have very attractive friends!”

Hunk nods sagely, but Pidge just snorts, lifting themselves up onto their elbows to shoot a look at Lance, a mischievous glint in their eyes as they smile sweetly. “So you _do_ think he’s pretty.”

Lance glares at them. “Uh, yeah, by _default_ , because all my friends are pretty.”

“But Keith is _extra_ pretty, right?”

“No!”

“Uh huh, but you don’t go around kissing all of us.”

Hunk gapes at them, wide eyes snapping to Lance. “You kissed _Keith_?”

Lance glares at Pidge, heat rising to his cheeks under the weight of Hunk’s gaze. “Pidge!”

They smile innocently. “What? It’s true. You don’t go around kissing me or—“ Lance’s lips curl into a smirk, and Pidge’s eyes widen, their own smile fading. They scramble away from him. “Lance— no!”

He slowly crawls forward, eyes never leaving Pidge’s as he smiles with the same false innocence they had used on him. “Piiiidge, come heeeere.” He sing songs.

They scramble away from him. “Oh, hell no!”

“Pidge get back here!”

He chases them around the apartment, over the couch several times, around the dining room table. He thinks he corners them in the kitchen for a moment before they scramble over the bar counter and escape into the dining room before sprinting to their room. They slam the door behind them.

“Pidge!” He shouts, running after them, only to be grabbed by Hunk.

“Okay, but I’d like to backtrack for a moment and get back to _you kissed Keith?!_ ”

Lance groans loudly and flops face down onto the couch. He can hear Pidge laughing from their room.

Thirty minutes later, Lance has explained the whole situation to Hunk, with a few _woe is me_ laments for good measure. Hunk is sitting on the couch, listening and nodding when appropriate. Lance has laid with his head on Hunk’s lap, twisted so his legs could hang over the back of the couch. Pidge has crawled out of their lair and taken a seat on the other side of Hunk, leaning up against his arm and playing on their phone while occasionally adding commentary.

“Whoa…” Hunk says when he’s done. And Lance has nothing to say to that, so he just nods. Whoa is right. “So… what’re you gonna do about it?”

He shrugs, tilting his head to look across the room. “It didn’t mean anything, and I don’t _want_ it to mean anything. So I’m going to be an adult and act normal around him.”

Pidge snorts. “Great idea, Lance.” They say dryly. “Wonder where you came up with that.”

“I’m filled with great plans.” He said, reaching a hand back to flick them in the ear.

“Okay, but you’re not going to be like… _awkward_ tonight, are you?”

Lance turns a suspicious glare to Hunk. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Hunk looks up, rubbing the back of his neck. “It means you’re, you know, _you_ , and with Keith coming over tonight, I don’t want it to be awkward… you know?”

“Why would it be awkward? I just told you I was gonna treat him normally!”

“He means he doesn’t want to deal with your unresolved sexual tension.” Pidge cuts in matter-of-factly.

“There’s nothing to resolve! We’re just friends!” They both give him blank stares, and he glares at them. “I’m serious! Just friends, and I’ll be totally normal. You’ll see. No awkwardness, no tension. I’ll be chill. Cool as ice. I got this.”

Pidge snorts, and Hunk hums, though it sounds skeptical.

“As long as _someone_ doesn’t bring it up, everything will be fine.” He tries again, flicking Pidge again.

They idly swat his hand away. “I won’t say anything.” They grumble.

“Hunk?” Lance says warningly, narrowing his eyes up at his best friend.

Hunk puts his hands up in the air in a defensive gesture. “My lips are sealed, buddy!” And then he mimes the gesture.

“Good.” He nods, crossing his arms over the chest. It’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Besides, no matter what happens with me and Keith, there’s no way we can be as bad as Shiro and Allura.”

“ _Right?!_ ” Hunk says at the same time Pidge groans, “ _Oh my god, I know_.”

Lance laughs, feeling lighter already now that the focus is off of him. “Seriously, though, how long have they been dancing around each other?”

“Pun intended?” Hunk asks.

“Totally intended.”

“Nice.” They high-five, and Pidge groans.

“Puns aside, it’s been way too fucking long. I don’t even _remember_ Shiro before his crush on Allura.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you known Shiro for like… most of your life?”

Pidge throws their arms up in the air. “Exactly! At first it was funny, but now it’s just pathetic.”

“One of these days…” Lance says wistfully.

Pidge snorts. “Yeah, I’ll be old and gray before that happens.”

 

* * *

 

If there’s one thing in life that Keith has never been very good at, it’s resisting his impulses.

He’s always just been a little too impulsive, acting on reflexes and considering the consequences later when he’s forced to face them. Well… now he’s forced to face them as they present themselves in the form of an extremely awkward Lance and an entirely too uncomfortable atmosphere.

When he had kissed Lance, he hadn’t been thinking about how it would affect their friendship. He hadn’t been thinking about how it would affect their dancing partnership. He didn’t think about how it would affect them at all. He hadn’t been _thinking_ at all. All he had known was the fact that Lance was sad and distracted and making these pitiful faces that tugged hard at his heart. All he had known was that those faces faded when Lance focused on him. All he knew was that he was making Lance smile again, and all he wanted at the time was for Lance to smile.

They had been so close, and the atmosphere had been so intimate, and it had just felt _right_. So he had kissed him. Well… sort of. He had initiated the idea, he’s pretty sure. But he can’t quite remember who actually kissed who first. They were just… suddenly kissing each other. It was a short kiss. Only like five seconds… maybe fifteen. Maybe half a minute? Who was counting.

All he knows is that it ended too abruptly when Pidge came hurtling through the crowd at them with Shiro hot on their trail. That he and Lance didn’t get intimate again that night. That he somehow ended up with a glow bracelet on his wrist, if only to make Lance smile again. That he got home and passed out fully clothed. That he woke up the next day with a pounding headache and feeling gross all over. That he kept repeating that night, the kiss, and everything that lead up to it over and over again in his mind while he laid on his bed suffering.

That he had liked it.

He didn’t regret what he had done, but he was starting to wish Lance hadn’t remembered. It would be a lot easier to pretend like it hadn’t happened and let it drift away like a barely remembered dream.

As he sits astride his bike, gazing up at Pidge and Hunk’s apartment complex with growing apprehension, he really hopes they can get back to normal soon. He misses normal. He misses hanging out with Lance without all the tension. He misses seeing him smile genuinely. He misses the casual touches that don’t mean anything. He misses the way Lance’s eyes spark with challenge or sparkle when he teases. He misses the playful pouts. Hell, he even misses the cocky smirks.

Anything is better than the Lance that treats him like he’s afraid he’ll blow up at any moment.

He just… He wants _Lance_ back. And as much as he had enjoyed that kiss, as much as it had just felt _right_ , he’s starting to wish he had more self control. Would he do it again? He’s… not sure. He wants to say no. He really doesn’t want to ruin this friendship, or partnership, or make things any more awkward than they already are. But at the same time, if the opportunity presented itself, he’s not sure he could say no. Does he want a relationship? Hell no. Does he like kissing Lance? Unfortunately, yes.

God _damn_ , he hates feelings. Too fucking problematic. He didn’t sign up for this. Infatuation is one thing. He can get over infatuation. He’s done it plenty of times before. Think a guy is attractive? Fine. Give it a few weeks and it’s faded to nothing. Unfortunately for him, making out with the subject of that infatuation isn’t exactly helping to keep those feelings from reaching the crush zone.

That, unfortunately, hasn’t stopped him from replaying the kiss over and over again every time he finds himself with a free moment: when he’s trying to sleep, when he’s trying to work, when he’s fucking driving.

He just really wants things to calm down again. Which would be easier if he wasn’t so fucking awkward, and Lance wasn’t so fucking awkward, and that didn’t make him even more fucking awkward.

He spends approximately three minutes just sitting on his bike and staring up at the apartment, wondering if he should just dip out, before his phone buzzes.

 **caw caw motherfuckers** : keith I can see you out there  
**caw caw motherfuckers:** now get your ass up here, I’m hungry and hunk won’t let us eat before you get here

He sighs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Guess there’s no getting out of it now. Hunk and Pidge had invited him to hang out last week, before the whole club thing happened. It would look weird if he cancelled on them now. Besides, if he wants the kiss to have meant nothing, he’s got to act like it meant nothing, right? Right.

And that’s how he finds himself outside the door to Pidge and Hunk’s apartment, running his fingers through his hair and sighing to himself before lifting a hand to knock. The door swings open before his knuckles can even make contact, and he finds himself face to face with Lance.

“Keith!” He says, a little too loud and Keith can’t stop the flinch. “Buddy! Pal! Friend-o! Homie-o bromio! How you doing?” He says with strained enthusiasm, voice pitched a little too high. Holding the door open wide with one hand, he rests his other forearm against the doorframe and leans into it. He smiles the smile that Keith knows is supposed to be charming, but honestly just looks a little too tight and doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Uh,” He says intelligibly, hand hanging awkwardly in the air for a moment before letting it drop. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “I was… invited over?” Great. Off to a wonderful start.

“Right,” Lance says, lifting his hand off the door to point a finger gun at him. He tops it with a wink, but the overall affect looks so much like a cringe that Keith is just left staring. He… doesn’t know how to deal with this. This is even weirder than normal. This is a new level of awkward Lance that he isn’t prepared for. “I knew that.” He continues, laughing in a way that’s so strained that it’s painful to hear.

He trails off, and the two are left just staring at each other.

“So, uh…” He starts, then clears his throat, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Are you going to let me in…?”

Lance blinks one, twice, his smile falls, and then his hand is back on the door, shutting it a fraction. “What’s the password?”

Keith blinks. “What?”

Lance rolls his eyes, and the smile that curves his lips looks a hundred times more natural. “I said _password_ , Keith. What’s the password?”

Keith’s lips press into a thin line, eyes narrowing a fraction as his hand drops to his side. “Pidge didn’t say anything about a—“

“Door’s closing Keith!” Lance sings, stepping back as he slowly starts to shut the door.

“Lance—“

“Nope, sorry! That’s not it!”

The door’s nearly closed when Keith’s hand shoots out to stop it. “Lance!”

“Password, Keith!”

“ _Lance_!”

“Yeesh, you’re terrible at this. Okay, repeat after me: Lance is the greatest.”

“No.”

“Oh, look, the door is slipping—“

Keith tries to shove the door open, but Lance leans on it from the other side, using the rest of his body to block the open space so Keith can’t slip in. He’s grinning that shit eating grin, and Keith wonders why he missed that stupid grin. He grits his teeth. “Lance, let me in.”

“Say the words, Keith.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

Keith looks at him, brows pinched and lips pursed into a small frown. With how they’re both leaning against the door, they’re surprisingly close. He tries not to think about that as he holds eye contact and mumbles a reluctant, “Lance is the greatest.” He tries to make his voice as dry and deadpan as he can, but there’s this strange fluttering in his stomach at those words that he doesn’t really want to analyze too much.

Lance’s grin drops almost immediately, face freezing in an almost comical way. And Keith thinks there might be a blush darkening his cheeks, but before he can really tell, Lance has stepped away from the door and Keith is falling through. His eyes widen as he stumbles into the entranceway, throwing a glare over his shoulder as he straightens.

“Sorry,” Lance mumbles, closing the door. And then he’s slipping past Keith, giving him an oddly wide berth as he hurries pas the kitchen and into the living room. “Keith’s here!”

“We _know_ , Lance.” Pidge grumbles.

“Hey, Keith!” Hunk says, smile wide and warm as Keith pauses at the kitchen entrance.

Keith smiles back, small and sincere. “Hey, Hunk. Need a hand?”

Hunk snorts a short laugh. “No, that’s Shiro.”

It takes Keith a moment to realize what he meant, and when he does, he rolls his eyes. He leans against the wall at the entry way to the kitchen, crossing his arms over his chest as he deadpans, “Fuck off.”

Hunk jerks a little, startled, and stares at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. Keith can feel the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Hunk must see it, too, because his look of startled alarm shifts to surprise. “Oh, my god…” He mumbles. “Keith, did you just…?” Keith’s smile widens, one eyebrow going up. Hunk grins. “Keith! You just made a joke! Guys! Keith made a joke!”

“I’ve _told_ you guys he’s secretly funny!” Lance calls out from the living room. “He just hides it under all that emo! Almost like humor is a… last resort.” Keith doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s wearing that shit eating grin.

“Oooh! Good one, Lance!” Hunk laughs.

He can hear Pidge’s groan mingling with his own before he hears their voice. “I’m way too hungry for this. Can we _please_ eat now? I don’t want to have to resort to eating Lance. He’s all skin and bone.”

“ _Excuse!_ This is all muscle! Lean, sculpted muscle.”

Pidge snorts. “Yeah, sure it is, string bean.”

Hunk shoots Keith an amused, wry smile before gesturing to the plates and food he has set up on the counter. “Mind helping me carry this out there before they kill each other?”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Would that really be such a bad thing?”

Hunk taps his chin, thoughtful. “As amusing as it would be to watch, I don’t want to have to pay rent alone.”

Keith hums. “Fair enough.”

Dinner that night consisted of the most intense loaded nachos Keith had ever seen. They brought out two trays of it, setting them on the coffee table. Everyone had their own plates and they picked what they wanted. There was so much that Keith gave in and used a fork, along with Hunk. Lance and Pidge, however, went bare handed, calling Hunk and Keith weak before exchanging a very messy high five.

While they ate, they watched Shrek. When Keith questioned it, Pidge whispered a quiet “Don’t” before Lance was set off in a speech that sounded half prepared and half like he was pulling it out of his ass. Something about true fairy tale romance, a thrilling saga of character growth, and ending it with, “And come on, who wouldn’t want to be cradled in those big, green, ogre bara hands?”

At that, Pidge, Hunk, and Keith all silently raised a hand.

It’s not too bad, and after Keith finishes eating, he settles back into the couch feeling far too stuffed to move. The others seem to echo that sentiment. Lance, he notices, managed to sit as far away from him as possible. He tries not to let that get to him.

All in all, Lance isn’t as awkward as he was expected. But Keith feels like he’s on a never ending rollercoaster. One moment Lance is fine and joking with him like normal, the next he won’t make eye contact. One moment he’s grinning, the next his smile is too tense and won’t reach his eyes. One moment he’s teasing Keith, and the next he won’t even talk to him. One moment they’re fine and normal, and the next everything is awkward. And when he’s not avoiding him all together, he picks at Keith in a way that’s reminiscent of when they first met, and it… it hurts. He always laughs it off, like he doesn’t realize he’s being antagonistic, but Keith hates it. It’s weird. It’s hectic. And Keith is tired of it.

He’s pretty sure Pidge and Hunk feel the tension, too, because they keep sending Lance looks whenever he gets weird and apologetic smiles to Keith.

Keith really fucking hopes they don’t know _why_ Lance is being so weird.

When Robin Hood comes on screen, Lance leaps up and claims the open space in the living room to do his own theatrical rendition of the song. Hunk stays on the couch, but does the merry men vocals for him, complete with clapping hands and an array of expressions. Pidge sits next to him, phone in their hand to record them both. Keith isn’t sure how they got it ready so fast, but he supposes being with these two a lot keeps them on their toes. As soon as Lance and Hunk realize Pidge is recording, they start performing to the camera. Pidge keeps their free hand clapped over their mouth to stifle their giggles.

Keith hasn’t seen this movie in years. He hasn’t _thought_ about it in years. But that doesn’t change the fact that he and Shiro used to watch it when they were kids. And because of that, he knows exactly how Hood’s song ends.

Lance has been avoiding looking at him for nearly twenty minutes, even while performing, and now his attention is on Pidge and their phone, so he doesn’t notice when Keith slips off the couch, one of the couch pillows in hand. Keith slowly creeps around the coffee table and positions himself just behind Lance’s peripheral vision. Not that he needs to bother. Lance is so wrapped up in his performance and interacting with Hunk for Pidge’s entertainment. Pidge, however, does see him. He sees it in the way their eyes flicker to him briefly, in the way their lips curl a little higher.

Then Hood’s song comes to it’s end, and Lance a fork that he had scooped off the table at Pidge while holding out the long last note, and then right when Fiona cut’s off Hood’s song with a kick, Keith slaps Lance in the side of the head with the pillow.

Lance goes down with a startled yelp, and Pidge bursts out laughing, followed shortly after by Hunk. Keith grins down at Lance, but he doesn’t loose it until Lance looks up at him, pillow clutched in his hands, expression torn between an offended scowl and a pout. Then Keith’s gone. He bends at the waist, eyes squeezing shut as laughter bubbles out of him. One arm wraps around his middle, but the other has to rest against his knee to keep himself from toppling over. He feels moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Then there’s suddenly a pillow hitting him in the face. His laughter chokes off as he straightens, but he barely manages to toss the pillow away before Lance is tackling him. They both go down, Lance on top, scrambling to pin him. Keith pushes at him, his face, his shoulders, shoving his legs with his own. Lance is slippery and all limbs and every time Keith pushes at him, he bends to avoid the actual shove. Like a god damn cat.

Keith finally gets a leg around him and manages to flip their positions, but Lance doesn’t stay down for long. Every time he thinks he’s got an advantage, Lance flips it on him. Luckily, he’s able to do the same. Unfortunately, that leads to neither of them winning and mostly just rolling around on the floor in a fit of chaotic limbs, grunts, and half muttered insults. Distantly, he realizes that if they keep this up, one of them is going to end up getting hurt. At the least, they're going to end up dislocating a shoulder or spraining a wrist or knocking an ankle out of alignment. He can hear Pidge and Hunk talking in the background, but he can’t focus on them with Lance so close, growling insults and complaining in his ear.

Keith has taken martial arts for years, he goes to the gym regularly, and he thinks all of that combined with dancing gives him a pretty good understanding of his body and how to use it to his advantage. All of that means nothing when he severely underestimated Lance’s ability to just be _squirrelly as fuck_. When Lance has managed to have him pinned for nearly five minutes and none of Keith’s struggles do him any good, he finally huffs in annoyance and lets his body go slack.

It takes another thirty seconds before Lance believes him. He sits back on Keith’s thighs, straddling his hips. He puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders to prop himself up as he grins down at him, a victorious twinkle in his eyes. “Pinned ya.”

Keith huffs again, blowing his bangs out of his eyes as he scowls up at Lance. “Good job.” He says dryly. “Now can you _get off me_.”

“Hold on, I’m just basking in my victory.” He says, grin sharpening into a smirk. Keith just glares at him.

“Oh man, I’m so glad I got that on video.” Pidge says, and both of their heads snap up to stare at them. Pidge’s phone is still aimed at them, and Keith sees Lance’s smile widen. He sits back, lifting his hands to pose, flexing for the camera.

Keith rolls his eyes before planting his feet and bucking his hips sharply upward. Lance yelps, jostled, but manages to stay where he is. He flops back down, hands landing on either side of Keith’s head to catch himself, and suddenly it dawns on him just how close they are. He can see the realization come to Lance at nearly the same time. His eyes widen a fraction, lips parting as his jaw goes slack, a multitude of emotions passing over his face but all gone before Keith can pin point them. Then he presses his lips together and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

Keith’s mouth feels dry.

He blinks, and suddenly Lance is off of him, scrambling to his feet and taking several hurried steps backwards. “Ha! Yeah, so anyway, I win! You suck, Keith.” He babbles, voice pitched a little too high for his nonchalance to be realistic. That, and the fact that he refuses to look at Keith, even when attempting to goad him. “Wow, boy am I thirsty. Anyone else thirsty? I’m going to go to the kitchen, heh. Don’t worry about pausing the movie.” He’s been slowly taking a few steps back, but with that, he turns on his heel and scuttles out of the room, leaving the rest of them staring after him in surprised silence.

Silence that’s getting thicker and tenser by the second. Pidge and Hunk look like they’re torn between giving him apologetic smiles and avoiding looking at him all together.

“I shouuuuld take these to the kitchen.” Hunk says, a little too loudly, reaching for the nacho trays as he starts to stand.

“I got it.” Keith says, on his feet and swiping the trays away before he really knows what he’s doing.

“But I—“ Hunk’s cut off by a Pidge elbow to the side, and Keith leaves before he can really dwell on the fact that both of them probably know.

He’s not really sure what he’s going to say. It’s not like he was planning on having this conversation. But he’s had enough, and he’s tired of it. He’s tired of Lance being weird. He’s tired of feeling like he has to be on eggshells around him. Being impulsive got him into this mess, and he hopes being impulsive will get him out of it.

When he gets to the kitchen, Lance is bent over behind the fridge door. Keith steps in, drops the trays loudly into the sink and turns around in time to see Lance jump and straighten, spinning around to stare at him wide eyed. “Keith!”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter. “Lance.”

Lance fidgets, eyes darting around the kitchen. “What’re you, uh, doing here? Not that you can’t be here! Obviously you can come to the kitchen if you want to.” His words are quick and hurried and he grabs a can of Coke from the fridge before closing it. “I was just getting a drink, but I’ll be go—“

“Lance,” Keith repeats, maybe a little too sharply, and Lance freezes mid step, finally looking at him with wide eyes. Keith sighs, holding eye contact as he tries to work up the courage to say what he needs to. He can feel his lips working, pressing and relaxing, tugging downward.

Lance relaxes a bit, standing a little straighter, brows pinching, small frown on his lips. “Keith, what are you—“

“We kissed.” He blurts, because apparently when he can’t quite figure out what to say, he says it bluntly. He’s making hard eye contact with Lance, so he sees the moment Lance freezes, mouth snapping shut, eyes widening even as his brows furrow. His shoulders rise in a stance Keith has started to associate with him being defensive. The panic in his eyes is all too clear, so Keith goes on before he bolts from the room. “We kissed.” He repeats, voice a lot softer and a lot kinder, words trailing off with a sigh. It feels… good to get that out in the open.

Lance’s eyes are intense, and Keith finds the emotions dancing across them to be too much and too overwhelming, so his own gaze drifts down to the floor. His fingers tighten around his upper arms, jaw clenching reflexively.

“Uh… yeah, we did.” He finally says, voice just as soft as Keith’s had been. When Keith looks up, Lance is looking to the side, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “We did that…”

“Do you hate me?”

“What?” Lance’s gaze snaps to his, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Keith holds his gaze, refusing to look away. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha— no! Why would I—“

“Then why are you acting weird?”

Lance gapes at him. “Wha— _me?_ You’re acting weird!”

Keith’s brows furrow. “You started it.”

“ _You_ started it!”

Keith sighs, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. “Look, Lance…” He lets his hand drop and he looks up through his bangs. Lance is watching him cautiously, the fire that had been building already gone out. He’s chewing his bottom lip, and that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. Keith feels the irritation seeping from him. “Can we just… go back to normal?”

He watches Lance’s Adam’s apple bob. He licks his lips before he echoes, “Normal?”

“Yeah, normal. Back to how we were before…” He waves a hand around. “ _It_ happened. We kissed at a club. It’s no big deal. I don’t want—“ He cuts himself off, huffing as he looks away, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t want this to ruin our friendship. I just want us to be… _normal_.”

He’s silent for a while, and as the moment stretches, Keith feels the tension in him rising, stiffening his shoulders and tightening his arms over his chest. Then Lance speaks, and it’s so casual and so calm that the tension dissolves instantly. “Yeah, we can do that.” Keith looks up, breath stopping in his throat at the sight of Lance’s smile, small and cocky and genuine, and so very _Lance_. It’s what he’s been missing. What he didn’t realize he’s been needed to see. The look in his eyes is so soft and filled with emotions that Keith doesn’t want to name and so focused on him that he has to consciously keep himself from fidgeting again. “Well, _I_ can do that. Think you’re up to the test, mullet?”

He feels his lips quirk up into a small smirk. “What? No fancy name this time?”

Lance shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his hip to the side. “I may or may not need to do more research.”

Keith snorts, pushing off the counter and starts toward the kitchen entryway. He only gets a few steps before there’s a hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop. He half turns, looking from the hand to Lance’s face, quirking an eyebrow in question. He’s searching Keith’s face, chewing on his bottom lip again. But there’s a spark of determination in those eyes that Keith knows all to well. It gives him chills. “So, uh…” He lifts his free hand to rub the back of his neck, but stops when he lifts his soda can. He stares at it for a moment like he forgot it was there before shaking his head and turning to look back at Keith. Once their eyes catch, Keith feels like he can’t look away. “I just wanted to ask… do you regret it?” His voice is so soft filled with so much concern and worry that Keith doesn’t hesitate before answering.

“No.” He says, voice surprisingly steady. Something about Lance shifts. It’s subtle, hard to pinpoint, but the kicked puppy look evaporates like it had never been there to begin with. Leaving a Lance who looks so wholly relaxed and… happy.

“Good,” He says on an exhale, like he had been holding his breath. A smile curves his lips on the trail end of it. “Neither do I.”

Keith’s heart stutters in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d been hoping to hear those words, how much he _needed_ to hear those words, how worried he had been if he didn’t… His gut knots just as his stomach flutters, and it’s such a contradicting feeling that it leaves him off kilter.

Without his permission, he feels his lips curling into a small, sincere smile.

“You know, just a couple of bros being bros.” Lance says, voice light and teasing as his grin widens. “Just dudes kissing dudes.”

Keith’s smile drops and he groans, rolling his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

Keith tugs his arm out of Lance’s grasp, and he lets go easily. “Okay, but Keith, buddy, in all seriousness, I need to know…” He asks, face dropping into a small frown as he pins Keith with his eyes. He might have pulled off the whole serious look, if it weren’t for the corners of his lips twitching upward again. “Am I a good kisser?”

Keith groans again, rolling his eyes as he shoves Lance’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps. “I said _don’t ruin it_.”

Lance laughs as Keith leaves the kitchen, following close behind. “Keith! I need to know! For science!”

“Five out of seven.” Keith says over his shoulder, and when he glances back, he’s pleased to find Lance has stopped and is gaping at him.

“Keith, did you just _meme_ me?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, side of his lips curving upward into a small smirk. He tilts his head to the side. “They’ll never believe you.”

Lance gasps, hand to his chest. “You’re worse than Pidge!”

 

* * *

 

“Pidge, your phone is vibrating.” Hunk says, lobbing a piece of popcorn over the coffee table and cleanly into Lance’s waiting mouth.

“Seventy-two,” Lance says.

“I know, but I’m trying to concentrate.” They say, tossing a piece to Keith. He has to turn his head to head quickly to try to catch it, but he misses. It bounces off his nose onto the floor. He glares at it before picking it up to eat it begrudgingly.

Lance giggles, biting his bottom lip to try to stifle the sound. Keith turns his head to the side to glare at him.

“Doesn’t look like it’s working.” Hunk says thoughtfully, eating a piece of popcorn himself.

“Yeah, what’s your number, Keith?” Lance asks, grin wide enough to crinkle his eyes.

Keith has to look away, heat rising up his neck. “Fifty-seven.” He grumbles.

“You guys suck at this.”

“And why are you so good at it?” Keith asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lance puts his hands behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankles where they’re resting propped up on the coffee table next to Keith’s. He shrugs. “Natural talent.” Keith snorts indignantly, and Lance chuckles. “Don’t be jealous of the dynamic duo. Up top, Hunk!” Lance lifts a foot. Hunk slouches further on the couch and lifts a foot to press it to Lance’s.

“I blame Keith.” Pidge mumbles, reaching for their phone as they eat a few pieces from the bowl in their lap. The third Shrek movie has just started and is playing on the tv, but none of them are paying any attention anymore. He’s not even sure how they got into this position, but he’s certain it has something to do with Lance’s competitive streak and his inability to turn down a challenge. Next thing he knows, they’re lying side by side on the floor while Pidge and Hunk throw popcorn across the room at them.

He can’t complain too much, though. After their short talk in the kitchen, things between them has been a lot better. The awkward tension has all but dissipated, gone like it had never been there to begin with. In it’s wake is a new kind of tension. A much more subtle one. One that shows itself in sideways glances, small smiles, playful teasing. It’s… Keith doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not bad, so he’ll take it. They spent most of the second movie sitting next to each other on the couch, playfully kicking each other before Pidge got tired of it and sat on both their legs. They both then proceeded to poke at Pidge instead.

“Who is it?” Hunk asks curiously, leaning over to loom over Pidge, eyes on their phone.

“Yeah, who’s blowing up your digits, little pidgeon?” Lance asks from his spot on the floor.

Pidge just makes a short, amused sound. “It’s just Matt. He’s complaining that Shiro is doing the thing again.”

Hunk raises both brows. “What thing?”

Keith snorts. “He’s planning his first date with Allura again, isn’t he?”

“Yyyup.”

“Aww, that’s so cute.” Hunk coos.

“It would be cute if he actually got the nerve to ask her.” Keith deadpans.

“Instead of telling Matt all about it, who then tells me about it, which I then tell Keith about it.” Pidge continues. “And now you guys, I guess.”

“I think he’s planned like twelve first dates at this point.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Lance pushes himself up on his elbows, looking between them. “ _Shiro_ plans his first dates with Allura?” A slow smile was creeping over his lips.

Keith shrugs with one shoulder. “If you can call it that.”

“More like he _hypothetically_ plans dates and talks to Matt about it, but we all know he’s doing it with Allura in mind.” Pidge adds. “He gets so into it that he doesn’t notice when Matt puts on his headphones and zones out.”

Lance pulls his feet off the table, crossing his legs under him as he sits up. “Oh, man, this is _great_.” He laughs, grin wide. “Allura does the _same fucking thing_.”

They all stare at him, but it’s Hunk who speaks. “How do you know that?”

Lance shrugs, grin turning mischievous. “She tells me about it sometimes. And when she doesn’t, she’s telling Coran about it, and he does the same thing with me that Matt is doing with Pidge.”

“Bro,” Hunk almost looks hurt. “You never told me that.”

Lance gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry, buddy, but she told me in confidence. It’s bro code.”

Keith snorts. “Didn’t stop you from telling us now.”

Lance gives him a small half scowl, half pout, and shoves him. Keith just chuckles under his breath, and they exchange small smiles.

“Anyway!” Lance says, clapping his hands together. “Point _is_ , those two are completely hopeless and have been for _years_. They’re both planning dates that they refuse to ask the other out on!”

Hunk scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I can’t tell if that’s cute and endearing or just sad.”

“It’s just plain sad.” Pidge offers.

“Seconded.” Keith adds.

“I have an idea!” Lance announces, and they all turn to look at him. He’s grinning, and takes a moment to make eye contact with all of them. He does it like he’s trying to build suspense, but Keith already has an idea of where he’s going with this. “ _We_ should set them up on their first date!”

Yup, there it is.

They’re all silent for a moment, then Hunk breaks it. “Uh… how’re we going to do that?”

Lance is ready with an answer. “We get Matt and Coran to bring them to the same place at the same time, where we’ve set up the best and most awesome and most memorable first date _ever_.”

“Lance—“ Keith starts, but Pidge cuts him off.

“No, wait. This might just work…” They all turn to stare at Pidge. Even Lance looks surprised.

“Really?” He asks, then shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I mean, pffff, yeah, of course it will! I’m a genius.”

“Yeah, really,” Pidge continues, tapping their chin with their phone. “Think about it. We’re all tired of them dancing around each other— pun intended,” They add, high fiving Hunk. “They’re basically dating anyway, but both of them refuse to just _do_ it. So why don’t we just give them the shove they need?”

Hunk hums thoughtfully. “It _could_ be pretty fun.”

Keith sighs, pulling his feet down from the table to sit up. He knows at this point, he’s going to be pulled it to it regardless, so he might as well jump on board. Besides, he’s tired of watching his brother pine uselessly when the girl he loves is so obviously head over heels for him. It’s just _embarrassing_ at this point. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Okay, but what date do we do?”

Lance claps a hand on his shoulder. “Just leave that to me. I’m _great_ with plans.”

Part of him wants to challenge that claim, the side of him that always want to challenge and poke at Lance. But he looks so genuinely excited, eyes sparkling, so Keith just shrugs. “Alright.”

His smile dims a fraction. “Wha— that’s it?”

Keith shrugs again, lips quirking into a small smile. “Yeah. I don’t have any ideas, so…”

They share small, genuine smiles.

“This shit has got to be over the top,” Pidge cuts in. “Nothing says over the top like Lance. I’m in.”

Lance tears his eyes away from Keith to glare at Pidge. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“In this case, it was one.”

“I’m in, too.” Hunk says. “This is going to be great.”

They all look to Keith. “I’m in.”

“Yes!” Lance shouts, throwing a fist into the air. “Operation Parent Trap is a go!”

Hunk laughs. “Oooh! Nice name, buddy!”

Lance rubs his nails on his shirt, smiling smugly. “Thanks, buddy.” He pushes himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head until his back pops. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you guys down. I’m going to plan the most tooth rottingly sweet first date _ever_.”

“I believe in your ability to make this gross.” Pidge says.

He’s already walking down the hallway toward the bathroom, but he turns to walk backwards so he can shoot finger guns at Pidge.

“While he’s gone, do you think we can catch up in points?” Pidge asks as soon as they hear the bathroom door close.

Keith looks up to see them positioned with a piece of popcorn held in their fingers, ready to throw. He shrugs, leaning back on his hands and opening his mouth.

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.” Hunk says.

Pidge throws anyway, and Keith manages to catch it. “Lance would do the same thing.” They say.

Hunk hums thoughtfully, the nods. “Good point.” He leans back. “Carry on.”

They get two more throws in before there’s suddenly a loud scream coming from across the apartment. They all jump, and Keith whips around just in time to see the bathroom door being thrown open and Lance hurling himself through it.

“ _Hunk!_ ” He shouts, scrambling fast enough that he nearly trips and runs on all fours for a second before gaining his feet again. His eyes are wide in what Keith can only describe as pure panic.

“Lance, wha—“

“HunK!” He reaches the couch and scrambles over the arm of it, practically throwing himself across the cushions. “Hunk! Bathroom! Spider! Juan! _HUNK, GET JUAN_.”

Keith watches in complete bewilderment as Hunk sighs, pushing himself to his feet and walking across the living room with all the calmness in the world. He heads out of sight toward the front door, and Keith turns back to the other two. Lance looks like he’s simultaneously trying to crawl into Pidge’s lap and curl around them. Pidge is desperately trying to shove him off.

“Lance— get _off_ —!”

Hunk comes back and pauses in the living room. Keith looks at him, both eyebrows raised. “Juan?”

Hunk nods solemnly and lifts the shoe. “Juan.”

And then he heads down the hallway toward the bathroom.

“Be careful, Hunk! It’s _huge_!”

“Lance, where is it?” Hunk calls from the bathroom.

“On the wall between the toilet and the shower! Right at face level! It almost jumped on my _face_ , Hunk!”

“Awww, Lance, it’s not that big.”

“ _Kill it, Hunk. Murder it with Juan_.”

There’s a loud sigh, followed by a muffled _thump_. Hunk comes back out, pausing as he enters the living room and smiling as he holds up his shoe. “Got it.”

“Hunk! Juan! My hero!” Lance leaps up from where he’s half crushing Pidge into the cushions, sprints across the couch, and leaps toward Hunk. Hunk must be used to this, because he catches Lance without a second thought.

Keith looks to where Pidge is pushing hair out of their face. “What just happened?”

Pidge huffs, sending a mild glare toward Lance. “He’s terrified of spiders and always makes Hunk kill them. He nicknamed Hunk’s left shoe Juan Shoe, The Savior. Now whenever he sees a bug in the apartment, he calls for Juan.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Specifically the left one?”

They nod. “Specifically the left one.”

Keith looks back to where Hunk is holding Lance up, an amused look on his face as Lance sings praises of him and Juan. Without really thinking about it, Keith feels his face relax, lips quirking at the corners in amusement as a strange, warm feeling starts up in his chest. It’s so dramatic and so ridiculous, but so amusing and so endearing and so incredibly _Lance_.

When Lance catches him watching, he rolls out of Hunk’s grasp, grabs the shoe, and crawls across the floor to make introductions. The entire time he goes about his over the top speech about the incredible Juan and the many times he’s been saved, Keith can’t look away from his face, so animated and expressive. Every time Keith laughs, Lance’s enthusiasm is spurred on. Keith notices that his cheeks vaguely ache from smiling. It’s a strange feeling.

 _He’s cute_. The thought comes to him unbidden and with a fluttering echo in his chest, followed quickly by a sinking sensation in his stomach and a mildly horrified, _Oh no_ …

 

* * *

 

By seven o’clock on Friday night, Lance and Keith are both waiting outside the dance studio’s back door. Matt pulls up with Shiro first. After he parks, he guides his blindfolded roommate out of the car and across the parking lot.

“Special delivery!” He calls out, one hand on Shiro’s arm.

Shiro frowns. “Matt, what are you—“

“Thanks, Matt.”

“Lance?” The man’s eyebrows shoot upward, frown deepening. He sees Shiro stiffen and his steps falter, but Matt just tugs him forward. “What’s going on?”

“I told you not to worry about it.” Matt says.

“And that’s exactly why I’m worrying about it.”

“Just shut up and trust us.” Keith says, sounding exasperated already.

“Keith?” They come to a stop in front of them, and Shiro turns his head like he’s trying to look between them. His brows furrow. “Now I’m definitely worried.”

“Ha ha,” Keith deadpans. “Thanks, Matt. We’ll take it from here.”

“No problem.” Matt says, letting go of Shiro’s arm and stepping away. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, smiling a lopsided grin that reminds him entirely of Pidge. “I expect him home before ten.”

“No promises,” Lance says with a wink.

Both Keith and Shiro groan, which earns laughter from Lance and Matt. The latter takes a couple steps backwards and waves. “Later, guys. Good luck! Tell Pidge to send me video.”

“Will do!” Lance calls.

“Pidge is here, too? Video of what?”

Keith sighs, taking Shiro’s arm and pulling him toward the door. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I take this blindfold off now?”

“Nope,” Keith says, popping the ‘p’ sound. As he walks through the door, the glances over his shoulder at Lance, who gives him a smile and a thumbs up. Keith’s returning smile is small, but entirely too endearing for his own good. Or for Lance’s own good.

He turns away and lets his eyes sweep across the parking lot. Coran arrives not too long after. He pulls right up to the door and doesn’t even bother turning the car off before he’s out the door and loping around to the other side.

“Hey, Coran.” Lance greets.

The older man grins, giving him a once over. “Lance, my boy! You look positively dashing.”

Lance smirks, holding an extended thumb and forefinger to his chin. “Like always.”

Coran opens the passenger side door and holds out a hand for Allura as she slips out of the car. “Coran, where are we? Did I hear—“

“Evening, princess.”

“Lance?”

“The one and only.”

Her brows furrow. “What’s going on?”

“Do you trust me?” Coran asks.

Allura’s look softens. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say,” He guides her forward and places her hand In Lance’s. “That they will take good care of you.”

Her face scrunches up, but she resigns herself with a reluctant. “Alright…”

“Good luck!” Coran says, skipping around to the drivers side of his car. “Do tell Pidge to send me video, won’t you?”

“Will do! Thanks, Coran.”

“Video?”

“Don’t worry about it, princess.” He says smoothly, taking her hand gently and guiding her through the door. It clicks softly shut behind them.

“I do wish you would stop calling me that.”

“No can do. Tonight, you _are_ a princess.”

“Lance, where is this going?” She asks warily, practically dragging her feet and subtly tugging against Lance’s hold in her own apprehension.

“You’ll see.” He sing songs, pulling her into the elevator and pressing the button for the second floor. When it dings open, he pulls her along down the hall.

“Are we… at the studio?”

He pauses mid step, glancing at her curiously. “How could you tell?”

A small smile curves her lips. “It felt like that’s the way Coran was going, plus we hit that pothole on the way to the back parking lot that we’ve been meaning to fix. Not to mention I’ve known the layout of this place since I was a child. It smells the same, too.”

Laugh laughs, continuing to walk her along. “That’s some impressive detective work. Now can you guess why you’re here?”

“I haven’t a clue.” She says in honest bafflement.

He grins. Good. He looks forward to the surprise.

When he reaches room 2A, he opens the door and guides her in. Keith and Shiro are already there, Keith with one hand on Shiro’s arm and Shiro positioned on the far side of the small table, next to one of the chairs.

At the sound of the door, his head shifts. “Who’s that?”

“Shiro?”

“Allura?”

“Lance, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t say anything as he sets her up across the table from Shiro. He exchanges a look with Keith before they’re both reaching up to pull off the blindfolds. They both step back, standing side by side as they wait for the two of them to take in their surroundings.

He’s not disappointed. The first thing they see is each other, eyes locking for a long moment before they take in what the other is wearing. Coran and Matt had told them to dress nicely, but hadn’t told them where they were going. As their gazes roam down the other, they see the table between them: a simple, round, two person table dressed up with a dark red table cloth. There’s two sets of plates and silverware and a small vase at the center with a single rose. Next to it is a bucket of ice with a bottle of wine. From there, their gazes drift around the room.

The room itself is Lance’s masterpiece. It’s their usual practice room, but he’s put some serious elbow grease into sprucing it up. The walls have tapestries of rich fabric in dark colors hung up around them to block out the windows and walls. The edges of the room has candles everywhere, some in clusters and some scattered, all lit to create a soft warm glow along the edges. Various vases of roses are positioned with candle clusters, as well as rose petals scattered about. The whole mood is brought together by the lighting, where Pidge has replaced some of the lights with colored bulbs, turning them down power and positioned them so the whole room is cast in purples and pinks.

And the pièce de rèsistance is the wall length mirror, reflecting the whole scene back to them. He worked hard to create a romantic, cozy, and intimate atmosphere out of the place where they’ve spent the most time together. And yeah, it costed them quite a pretty penny to get everything, but Coran covered half the expenses on his own, and they split the remaining cost. It was worth it for Shiro and Allura.

Lance watches them, unable to hide his wide grin. They both look like a wonderful mix of shock and awe. The lighting, combination of the colored light from above and the soft candle light from below, reflects off their eyes. Allura’s seem to sparkle, but not nearly as much as Shiro’s when he looks at her. He sees the moment they finish absorbing their surroundings and the whole implication of them really starts to set in. He sees the slight widening of their eyes, the way Shiro’s lips purse in his ‘I’m trying to hide a blush’ face, the way Allura’s jaw drops as she gasps and her hands go to her chest, the way both of their complexions seem to get darker despite the already dim lighting.

They stare at each other, and slowly, so slowly it takes Lance a moment to see it, they smile. Their expressions soften, and their entire bodies relax for the first time since they arrived. The moment is suddenly weirdly private and intensely intimate, and Lance finds he has to look away.

He makes the mistake of looking at Keith.

They’re both dressed to the nines. Coran had taken them out to get matching outfits for the occasion: tightly fitted black slacks, shoes to match, and black vests with matching colored button-ups underneath. Lance’s is a deep blue, and Keith’s is a dark red. They both have their shirts rolled up to the elbows, and it shows off Keith’s forearms nicely. At Lance’s insistence, they both slicked their hair back. He just wanted to go all out with the whole fancy theme they have going on. He knew he’d look good, but he wasn’t expecting the way his heart went into overdrive when Keith came out of the bathroom with his hair slicked back and out of his face. Or for how endearing it was when he shuffled his weight from foot to foot and looked up at Lance through his lashes to ask if he looked alright in a low mumble.

Looking at Keith now, Lance sees the flaws in his plan.

He _knows_ he looks good. He can feel it. He sees it in the mirror. He pulls off the look fantastically. He had expected as much. What he hadn’t expected was how good _Keith_ would look. If he looks good, Keith looks phenomenal.

Looking at him now, seeing the lighting play off his pale complexion, seeing the way the clothes fit him in all the right places, seeing the soft, amused smile on his lips as he watches his brother, seeing the way he stands relaxed with his arms crossed loosely over his chest… He takes his breath away.

And then Keith is turning to look at him, and Lance is captured by those dark eyes. He can feel his excited grin is still fixed in place, and Keith’s smile widens just a fraction in response.

Then he fucking _winks_ , and Lance feels his heart stutter in his chest.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, however, because Shiro and Allura have turned to them, taking in their outfits for the first time.

“Uh, guys?” Shiro says, snapping their attention back to him. “What’s going on?” He asks, but his words are slow and cautious.

Clearing his throat, Lance drops into a graceful and practiced bow. “Welcome to The Altean Kitchen . Keith and I will be your waiters this evening. Hunk has already prepared a lovely meal for you both, which we’ll be serving shortly.” He straightens and smoothly steps up behind Allura, pulling out her chair and gesturing to it. “We invite you to sit, and we hope you enjoy your evening.”

Allura stares at him blankly, then to the chair, then to Shiro. He shrugs, and she sits. With a hand on the back of her chair, Lance looks to Keith. He hasn’t moved. Lance puts a fist to his mouth and clears his throat loudly. Keith raises an eyebrow and Lance looks pointedly to Shiro’s seat. Keith follows his gaze, stares, and then heaves a heavy sigh, shoulder slumping in defeat as he goes to pull the chair out for his brother.

Once they’re both sitting, Keith works on uncorking the bottle of whine. When he does, he passes it to Lance who pours for them both.

“So, uh…” Shiro rubs the back of his neck. “What’s the occasion?”

Allura mumbles a soft thanks to Lance and takes her glass, lifting it to her lips to sip.

“You’re on your first date.” Keith says bluntly, lips curling into a small smirk as Allura chokes on her wine and Shiro gapes at him, scar being thrown into stark relief against his blush.

“We’ll leave you two alone now.” Lance says, grabbing hold of Keith’s wrist and tugging him away from the table. “We’ll be back shortly with the appetizers!” He calls out behind him as he shuts the door. They’re halfway to the stairs before Lance realizes he’s still holding Keith’s arm and let’s go. He covers up his embarrassment by racing Keith down the stairs.

The rest of the date goes smoothly. Hunk had prepared the food at their apartment and brought it over after Shiro and Allura showed up. He set up shop in the studio’s meager half kitchen break room, and they finished off the dishes as best they could. Pidge, being the little tech gremlin they are, set up a subtle camera in the room so they could keep an eye on the date, as well as hooked the sound system up to their own portable remote. As soon as Keith and Lance left, they started to play soft music to further set the mood.

They bring up the appetizers, followed by the main course, and later dessert. They keep an eye on the two through the camera feed to see when they’re needed, but other than that they leave the two alone. The awkward tension dissolves somewhere after the appetizer, and it’s not long before the two of them are leaning across the table, smiling, and absorbed in conversation.

As it turns out, there’s a lot more downtime than they were anticipating. With the food already prepared, they spend a lot of time simply waiting for Shiro and Allura to be ready for the next course. After some rummaging, Hunk manages to find a few decks of cards, and the four of them sit on the break room table to play several rounds of Tic. They pause whenever Pidge decides it’s time for the next course, and Keith and Lance have to hurry upstairs.

When they’ve been done with dessert for long enough that they’re both starting to look fidgety, Lance declares that it’s time for phase two of the date. He and Keith head upstairs and push into the room. With a flourish, they pull Shiro and Allura to their feet, each grab a chair under one arm, and use their free hands to carry the table between them as they shuffle toward the door. It goes so quick that Shiro and Allura are left standing there, staring after them.

They both manage a few half formed questions, but Lance just shoots them a wide smile before closing the door. He and Keith leave the table and chairs out in the hall before sprinting back down to the break room.

“Did we miss it?” Lance asks, bursting into he room.

“Nope, we were just about to start.” Pidge says, pulling their laptop into their lap where they sit crosslegged on the table.

Lance hurries into the room, Keith right behind him. Hunk sits on the table behind Pidge, leaning over them to watch the camera feed. Lance props his ass up on the table next to Pidge, one foot dangling and the other resting on one of the chairs as he leans in. Keith crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the table on Pidge’s other side to watch the screen.

It shows Shiro and Allura standing around awkwardly in the middle of the open dance room, surrounded by the soft atmosphere Lance has so painstakingly crafted. Shiro rubs the back of his neck, and Allura idly rubs one arm. But they’re standing close and they’re both smiling. Then Pidge cuts off the music that’s been playing and turns on the song that Keith had picked out.

He assured them that it was the first dance the two of them had choreographed and performed together.

Lance watches with building excitement as the two of them recognize the song, eyes shyly finding each other, smiles replacing surprised expressions. Then Allura holds out a hand, and Shiro takes it.

Watching them dance has always been breathtaking, but this is on a whole different level. Here, they’re not dancing for a crowd. They’re dancing for each other. Their steps and movements are memorized, but there’s a loose and languid quality about them that speaks of easy comfort. They’re not dancing to be perfect. They’re dancing to be together. And it shows. That combined with the whole atmosphere of the room makes Lance’s chest feel full and heavy with emotion. Mostly happiness for his friends.

None of them talk as they all watch with rapt attention. Lance is pretty sure the others are holding their breath, too. Lance spares a glance at the others. Hunk looks like he’s about to cry. Pidge’s expression is soft and adorable. And Keith… Keith is smiling this small, genuine smile and his eyes are so dark and he just looks so _happy_ — Lance looks back to the screen, ignoring the increase in his heart rate.

The dance itself is pretty simple from Shiro’s side. He’s mostly just there to guide and support Allura as she does all the beautiful and complicated moves. But there’s a history there. As their first choreographed dance, it’s one they did with the intention of getting Shiro used to dancing, one they did with the intention of learning how to work with his prosthetic, one they did while they were building trust and getting to know each other as partners.

As the song comes to the end, Keith leans toward Pidge, nudging them with his shoulder. “Did you set up the thing I asked you to?” He mumbles. There’s no need to whisper, but the air in the room feels too heavy not to. Even then, his voice is almost startling in the silence.

Pidge nods, small smile curling into something more mischievous. “Yup.”

On the screen, Shiro and Allura are standing close. His hands are resting loosely on her waist, her hands on his chest. They’re gazing at each other and have been for a solid several seconds.

“Do it.”

Pidge hits a button on the music player and suddenly _Kiss the Girl_ is blasting loudly from the chorus.

Both of them jump, heads whipping up to look around the room, faces on guard in their surprise. Lance see’s Shiro stiffen as his face morphs to one of mortification, his jaw going slack. Allura, on the other hand, throws back her head and laughs. Before Shiro can say anything, she grabs him and dips him. They see his eyes widen in surprise before his face is out of sight and Allura is kissing him.

They all cheer loudly, Pidge’s laptop nearly slipping off their lap in their excitement.

“Yes!” Lance throws a fist into the air.

“Finally,” Pidge throws both hands up into the air as they shout.

“About damn time.” Keith says.

“Go, Allura! Oh my god, guys, that was beautiful.” Hunk is saying. Hands on Pidge’s shoulders, he shakes them back and forth. “I can’t believe that happened!”

“Nice touch with the song, Keith.” Pidge says, lightly punching him in the arm.

His smile curls a little wider. “It was payback.”

And then on screen, Allura is standing Shiro up again, and they all have a clear view of his awestruck face, completion dark with a flush. He looks absolutely stunned, and they all laugh.

And for what feels like the thousandth time that night, Lance makes the mistake of looking at Keith.

He’s laughing so hard that his eyes are crinkling, bent at the waist as it bubbles out of him. Lance has heard his laugh plenty of times before, but that doesn’t stop it from making his heart jump into this throat. Then Keith is looking at him, grin wide and eyes sparkling as he wipes away a tear. His pale cheeks are flushed, and with his hair slicked back, Lance can see the entirety of his face, beautiful in his mirth.

 _He’s cute_. The thought, so innocent and so genuine, comes unbidden, flitting across his mind as his stomach flutters, followed shortly after by a clenching in his chest and a sense of dread. _Oh no…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Juan Shoe came from an inside joke. When Sora was drawing the [photoset](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/150921686024/and-all-of-them-together-shut-up-and-dance-with) for this au before we started the fic, she would send me pics of them before they were finished. And she always draws them naked first before clothes. But she sent me Hunk when he was completely naked except for one detailed shoe. And this conversation happened: [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/xmq51ex6865lbox/juan1.png?raw=1) and [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/l79ydtcyym7ogr5/juan2.png?raw=1).
> 
> In case you're wondering, Hunk's shirt says "Demi-God," and it refers to him being demisexual, but the shirt can be in reference to anyone who identified as demi as any sexual/romantic/gender expression. I've come up with sexual/romantic/gender expression pun shirts for everyone in this au, and Sora's gonna draw them in a photoset eventually 8D
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/158567170594/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-9-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	10. Geronimo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **vive la lance:** I FOUND IT! I FUCKING FOUND IT  
>  **fuck off:** found what?  
>  **vive la lance:** OUR REGIONALS SONG  
>  **vive la lance:** I FOUND IT  
>  **fuck off:** link me  
>  **vive la lance:** https://www.youtube.com/-------  
>  **vive la lance:** ….  
>  **vive la lance:** ………  
>  **vive la lance:** weLL??  
>  **vive la lance:** cmon keith youre killin me  
>  **fuck off:** I like it  
>  **vive la lance:** yeAH??  
>  **fuck off:** yeah  
>  **vive la lance:** YEAH??  
>  **fuck off:** yeah, let’s do it  
>  **vive la lance:** fuck yes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love this chapter, and it was a lot of fun to write. I'm also a HUGE fan of the art Sora did for this chapter, like wowie, man. I could stare at it for five hours. So I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Time to see these idiots stumble their way through life, but what else is new, really?
> 
> Happy reading!!

“Lance—“

“Shhhh!”

“—What are you doing?”

“ _Shhhh!_ ” He glares at him, squinted eyes, pout, and everything. Keith just stares back, face blank and unamused.

When it’s clear he isn’t going to say anything, Keith raises one pointed eyebrow.

Lance sighs, rolling his eyes before once more lying flat on the dance room floor, ear pressed to the polish hard wood. “I’m trying to _listen_ , if you would just be _quiet_.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Listen to _what?_ ”

“Listen to _music!_ We’re in a _dance_ studio, Keith. Keep up.”

He doesn’t look impressed. “Why are you trying to listen to music through the _floor?_ ”

Lance sighs, giving up for the moment as he props himself up on his elbows. “Because, _Keith_ ,” He says, calmly and rationally, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Because it _is_. Why else would he have his ear pressed to the floor of room 4D unless Pidge and Hunk were in room 3D?  
“I’m trying to figure out what song Pidge and Hunk are practicing to.”

Keith, however, looks more confused than ever. He’s sitting close by, the two of them pretty dead center on the floor. Keith has his feet stretched out, leaning back on his hands. Lance actively _ignores_ his stupid fucking _ponytail_ and the way it exposes the long curves of his neck. He’s _really_ starting to hate that thing. He’s said it before, and he’ll say it again: Keith’s hair is _stupid_.

Keith’s brows pinch just a little, his lips puckering in that way that’s so adorably confused and yet infinitely endearing. Lance wants to hate that, too, but that one’s a little harder to hate. “Why are you trying to do that?”

Lance sighs, loudly and rolls his eyes, letting the imaginary momentum of it roll him over onto his back. He sprawls out, eyes fixed on the ceiling and the familiar tiles. And it’s only _partially_ so he doesn’t have to stare at Keith. Staring at Keith has proved to be a dangerous activity lately. If his mind wanders while he’s doing it, his thoughts can get into some dangerous territory. Territory that tends to make his insides squirm. Which is _not_ okay when he’s in the middle of one of Shiro and Allura’s lessons and Keith is like… two fucking inches from his face.

He’s had more heart attacks in the past two weeks than he cares to admit. One of these days his heart is just gonna skip a beat and straight up stop. Rest in pieces, Lance McClain. Here he lies and here he died, killed by Keith’s stupid mullet and those stupidly beautiful eyes that seem to change colors like a shifting storm.

Man, fuck Keith.

But not like… not like _fuck_ Keith. That’s a whole different can of worms that he _really_ doesn’t want to open up right—

“—ance.”

“What?” He says a little too quickly, head rolling over to stare wide eyed at Keith, like he can somehow manage to read his thoughts.

But Keith is just staring at him, one eyebrow raised. “I asked why you’re trying to hear their music through the floor.”

“Oh, that.” He laughs a little, a nervous sort of chuckle that he internally winces at. “I’m trying to figure out what they’re dancing to for regionals.”

“Why don’t you just… ask… them?” He asks slowly.

Lance scoffs, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. There’s a water stain in the corner of that one tile. Fascinating. “Because they won’t tell me.”

“Why not?”

“Because they won’t just _tell me_ about their regionals routine, Keith.”

“…Why not?”

He throws his hands into the air, voice rising. “Because it’s top secret information! We’re rivals now! That’s how this works!”

“Are you sure you’re not just projecting?” There’s that edge of amusement in his voice that Lance both loves and hates. And when he turns to glare at him, his lips are quirked into the ghost of a smile. “Besides, I thought _we_ were rivals.” And yup. He’s _definitely_ teasing him now. He cocks his head to the side and his smile widens like he’s not actually aware that he’s doing it, let alone able to stop it. And _fuck_ , there goes his erratic heartbeat again.

Lance smirks, eyes going half lidded because he’s not sure what else to do and old habits die hard. “What’s the matter, Keith?” He purrs, lifting himself up on his elbows to leer at him. “ _Jealous?_ ”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up.” He deadpans, but he’s still smiling as he lifts a foot and uses it to push him over.

Lance chuckles, rolling onto his stomach once again and pressing his ear to the floor, if only to have _something_ to do. “I know it’s hard, what with that hairstyle and all, but stop living in the past. We’re partners now, and Hunk and Pidge are our rivals.”

Keith is quiet for a moment, and the pause almost seems thoughtful. He avoids looking at him because he can just _feel_ those eyes on him. Instead, he tries to focus on the muted music coming through the floorboards. It’s no use though. He can hear muffled beats, but most of everything else is lost. Those beats could be from anything.

“Let me guess. They asked what we were doing for regionals, and since we don’t have anything, you told them it was top secret, so now they’re doing the same thing with you. Does that sum it up?”

Lance grumbles something unintelligible and makes a _so-so_ hand gesture to indicate that, yeah, that’s mostly right, and he’s rewarded with a soft chuckle. There’s another silence, and it’s equal parts comfortable and awkward. But it’s not awkward because it’s Keith. In fact, it’s mostly comfortable because it’s Keith.

No, it’s awkward because they both know that they _should_ be continuing their search for an audition song. But that search has been going on fruitlessly for _weeks_. They just can’t decide on anything. Nothing has felt _right_ to Lance. They’ve found good songs, yeah, and they’ve found song he’d love to dance to some other time. But for regionals it has to be _perfect_ , and nothing has given him that _feeling_ that he’s so desperately looking for.

And Keith, despite his insistence that it’s Lance holding them up, is just as picky as he is.

So the first fifteen minutes of their practice slot involved them going over song and dance ideas they’ve had since their last practice. And when that ran dry, they just kinda… have done nothing since. Lance is _trying_ to be productive by spying on their downstairs neighbors, but he still can’t quite figure out the song. The beat is too generic, and that’s all he can hear.

The song stops abruptly, like they had turned it off halfway through, and then it starts up again from the beginning.

He huffs loudly, propping himself up on his elbows so he can scroll through his phone. “Maybe if I download that music app…” He mumbles to himself.

“I don’t think it’ll pick it up through the floor.”

“Well I don’t see _you_ coming up with any ideas.”

“Maybe because I don’t see the point?”

“The point is I want to win!”

“Win _what_ exactly?”

“The— well— they— I don’t know! But they basically challenged me and I accepted it.”

Keith quirks one eyebrow. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“ _You_ don’t make any sense!” Keith looks unimpressed. Lance sighs, shoving his hand in his pocket and pushing himself to his feet. He brushes off his hands before holding a hand out to Keith. Keith just stares at it. Lance rolls his eyes, shaking his hand more insistently. “Come on.”

And surprisingly, he does take it after a moment. He surprises him for a moment, and he nearly forgets to pull him to his feet. “What are we doing?” He asks, and Lance grins.

“We’re going to spy on them.”

“Why—“

Lance is already tugging him toward the door. “Because we can’t hear them through the floor!”

Keith is putting up resistance, but it’s half hearted. “But _why_?”

Lance sighs as he reaches the door, one hand on the knob and the other still holding onto Keith. He turns to face him, giving him a flat look. “Alright, look, it doesn’t matter. Not really. But Keith… I’m _bored_. We’re not getting anywhere just sitting around, so we might as well have some fun, right? Besides, maybe if we know what _they’re_ dancing to, it’ll inspire us.” He doesn’t look convinced, brows pinched and lips pursed. Lance gives him a small smile. “Worth a shot, right?”

Keith’s frown deepens, but it’s more of a pout than anything. The specific pout that he gets whenever he’s thinking about something and he knows it’s a losing battle. And… Lance doesn’t want to think too hard about the fact that he knows that. When did he get so good at reading Keith?

Finally he sighs, and Lance’s grin widens. “Fine.“

“Yes!” He says, already opening the door.

“—But this better not get me banned from Hunk’s cooking, or I swear I’m never talking to you again.”

Lance scoffs, letting go of Keith’s hand to put both of his on the door frame, peeking out and looking both ways. “Coast is clear.”

“Lance, we’re the only ones who use the fourth floor.”

“Come on, Keith! You gotta play along.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“Whatever, spoil sport.” He turns to look back at him, smirk wide as he waggles his eyebrows. “Besides, we can still dance together even if you’re not speaking to me. It’s called _body language_ , Keith.” He says, punctuating his words by putting his hands behind head and rolling his body suggestively. He makes sure it’s a long, slow one, and he’s rewarded when Keith’s eyes follow the movement all the way down before snapping up to meet his gaze.

It might just be wishful thinking, but he could swear Keith’s cheeks are tinged pink.

Before he can look too closely, however, Keith is shoving past him. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

“Keith, wait!” He says, scrambling out of the room after him.

He stops, watching Lance warily as he comes up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What?”

“If we’re going to do this, we gotta do it _right_.”

“And what’s the right way to do this?” He asks slowly, like he’s dreading the answer.

Lance’s grin widens. “I’m so glad you asked. Follow my lead.” And then he’s throwing himself to the side, his back hitting the wall a little harder than he intended. That doesn’t stop him from bending his knees a little, arms sprawled out against the wall, eyes squinting as he snaps his eyes back and forth. _“Dun dun, duunun dun dun…”_ He starts to sing quietly.

“Oh my god,”

He doesn’t stop half-singing, half-humming as he shuffled down the hall against the wall. When he’s a good distance from Keith, he throws himself forward, going into a rolling summersault that’s only a _little_ sloppy. When he rightens, he shuffles the remaining few feet to press his back to the other wall. His song resumes as he half crawls, half shuffles along the wall.

“Seriously?” Keith says dryly, arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised as he cocks his head to the side. But Lance can see the slight tilt to his lips, the way his eyes are crinkling at the edges.

He grins, “Seriously,” Then he slaps the wall twice before pointing to the ground next to him. “Now get your ass over here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Keith. Really.”

He sighs, but he _does_ give in, which surprises Lance, but hey, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Keith squats down on the ground next to him, glaring when they make eye contact. “But I’m not making the sounds.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just do it twice as loud to make up for it.”

“Lance, that’s—“

 _”DUN DUN, DUUN UN, DUN DUN—“_ He’s already started off down the hall, leaving Keith behind.

 _”You can’t sneak around if you’re singing!_ ” Keith hisses, but Lance can hear the smile in his voice.

He doesn’t turn around, nor does he stop as he makes his way down the hall. He does a few more rolls, purposefully making them terrible and stopping halfway though just to push himself along the floor on his back with his feet. It’s worth the dirt on his shirt to hear Keith snickering. He doesn’t get _nearly_ as into it as Lance is, but he crouch walks along the wall even though he really doesn’t half to, and so Lance will take that as a win.

“Alright, that was your warm up round,” Lance says as they reach the stairwell. He flashes Keith a wide grin. “Here comes the _real_ test.”

“Please don’t say something stup—“

“ _Super spy mode, activate!”_

“ _Oh my god_.” Keith says, but he’s laughing, openly and loudly as Lance dives for the stairs, throwing himself up against the wall and half climbing up onto the railing. “You are such a _dork_.”

“Come on, Keith. You know you wanna.” He says, waggling his eyebrows. “Live a little. Take a risk. You might find you like it.” He tries to shimmy his way down the railing, which proves to be more difficult than anticipated, but he’s not giving up.

Keith doesn’t say anything, but Lance catches sight of his smile as he steps forward and slides effortlessly down the center railing. When he gets to the landing between floors, he hops off and immediately jumps forward to press himself against the wall, hands flat against the cinderblocks. He catches Lance’s gaze and smirks before scooting to the side, with several quick steps before jumping, hitting the side wall with one foot before pushing off, landing several steps down.

Lance laughs, the suddenness of it causing him to nearly fall from his precarious perch. “Hardcore parkour!” He shouts before jumping forward, grabbing hold of the center railing and vaulting himself over it. His vault is nearly flawless, but his landing is… not so much. He lands on the edge of a step, arms wheeling to attempt to regain his balance, but before he can fall forward, Keith’s hand grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him backwards.

He stumbles back, feet finally gaining purchase as he lands against Keith’s torso, his other hand landing on Lance’s arm to steady him. His heart is hammering in his chest, and it only about seventy-five percent has to do with his near fall. The other twenty-five has to do with the fact that he can suddenly smell Keith, his deodorant dull and earthy with a hint of spice, mixed with a scent that he can’t describe but which he’s come to associate with just _Keith_. It fills his nose and leaves him momentarily dizzy.

It’s not that he’s not used to being this close to Keith by now. He really is. Shiro and Allura’s lessons have seen to that. He’s able to be practically cradled in the guy’s arms with only minimal blushing. This, however, is different. This isn’t them hiding behind a dance. Of course, it’s not them being close by choice. Rather by reflex and happenstance. But still.

The fact remains that Lance actually kind of _likes_ it, and that thought has his heart kicking into overdrive because he doesn’t _want_ to like it.

“Nice jump.” Keith says, teasing edge to his otherwise flat voice.

Lance tilts his head back, gazing up at Keith with a wry grin. “Nice catch.”

They only stare at each other for what is perhaps a second too long before Lance is ripping his gaze away and practically throwing himself down the stairs, continuing the Mission Impossible theme at a slightly rushed tempo.

The third floor of the dance studio is only ever slightly more populated than the forth. And luckily, it’s in the middle of a time slot, so anyone who’s actually on this floor is currently locked away inside their practice rooms. This means there’s no witnesses to his shenanigans, and Keith is more likely to continue doing them _with_ him.

When they reach the door, Lance crouches by the door frame, gesturing for Keith to follow suit. He rolls his eyes, but surprisingly complies. Hunching over Lance as the two of them peer out from around the corner.

“The coast is clear.” He whispers.

“I can _see_ that, Lance.”

“On the count of three—“

“Lance—“

“One—“

“What are you—“

“Two—“

“ _I don’t know what you’re planning—“_

“Three— _Go!_ ”

“Lan— _fuck_ —“

Lance grabs the front of his shirt, giving it a sharp tug. It’s just enough to tilt his momentum forward before he’s letting go. He dives forward, doing a much more coordinated tumble as he rolls out of the stairwell and across the hall. He has to do two whole tumbles before he reaches the opposite wall, and he leaps to his feet, back pressed against it. When he looks back at Keith, he sees the guy has fallen forward but managed to catch himself on the door frame. He’s giving Lance that flat stare of his.

Lance proceeds to give him a series of hand gestures and facial expressions in an attempt to get his thoughts across without having to speak.

Unfortunately, Keith’s blank stare just looks confused as his expression drops, eyes squinting as his mouth falls open just a little. Lance raises an eyebrow, but Keith just lifts his arms and shrugs.

Lance slaps a hand over his face. Uuuugh. Come on, Keith. It’s not that hard. He does this _all the time_ with Hunk and Pidge and his siblings, and _they_ all get it!

Alright, super awesome spy language is too complex for Keith. Gotta simplify it to beginner spy standards.

He points at Keith, then makes a rolling motion with both hands before jabbing a finger at the ground next to him.

That, at least, Keith seems to understand.

His brows pinch, his lips pursing as he firmly shakes his head and mouths, _No_.

Lance retaliates by mouthing an exaggerated, _Yes!_

Keith isn’t budging, so Lance breaks out the big guns. It’s time for Code Ginger.

He slumps his shoulders, tilting his head to the size, and making his eyes as big and innocent as possible while sticking his bottom lip out. He gives him a full taste of the Lance McClain Patented Puppy Dog Look. Keith’s only seen it in picture form, and at the time he had been bombarded with everyone else’s, too. But it had worked then, and he can only hope it’ll work now.

Keith manages to hold out for a grand total of four seconds.

He sighs, body slumping in defeat as he shakes his head. Lance feels himself light up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and he doesn’t even try to tone it down, because Keith is suddenly leaning out to glare down the hallway once more. He glares at Lance for just a moment before he’s suddenly in motion. He dives forward, going into a flawless tuck and roll. He manages to make it across in just one, and pops up with just as much grace to stand at Lance’s side, back pressed to the wall.

“Happy?” He mutters, still glaring.

“Extremely,” Lance says, grin cranked up to the max. Instead of dwelling on that, he turns and starts down the hall.

They creep along the wall with slow, careful steps. Not that it matters too much, but he’s determined to be as silent as possible. Just for the added challenge. He insists on rolling past all the closed doors, but Keith just crouches and scuttles past them. When they reach room 3D, Lance rolls past it before crouching low, back pressed to the wall next to the door frame. Keith stops opposite him, and as they make eye contact, Lance lifts a finger to his lips.

Keith rolls his eyes, but Lance thinks he can see the shadow of a smile.

Lance scoots forward and presses a hand and his ear to the door. The music is still muffled, but he can hear it a lot more clearly than he could through the floor. He closes his eyes, trying to concentrate. He’s pretty sure he knows it, but honestly the beat is something that could be in any of _dozens_ of songs. Ugh, why can’t Pidge and Hunk listen to music at a loud volume like everyone else in the studio?

The sound of movement catches his attention, and he opens his eyes and fucking _jumps_ because Keith is suddenly _right there_.

“ _What’re you doing?_ ” Lance hisses.

Keith just gives him an unimpressed look, pressing his ear to the door so they’re facing each other. “I’m trying to listen, if you would be quiet for ten seconds.” He whispers back.

His hand is pressed to the wood and their fingers touch. It takes every ounce of self control Lance possesses not to jerk his hand away. How is it even _possible_ for one fucking finger to put off that much heat?

“That’d be easier if you didn’t have hair in your ears, George Clooney.”

Keith frowns. “He doesn’t have a mullet.”

“So you admit you have a mullet?”

“No, but that’s what _you’re_ implying, and I’m correcting your reference.”

“He had one in the eighties. Trust me. I looked it up.”

“Oh, I believe it. What do you even _do_ in your free time besides look up people with mullets?”

“Hey, I only looked it up twice.”

“Yeah, and memorized a list both times.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything.”

“Bullshit. It’s all up in your tone, and I don’t like it.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

They’re close. When had they gotten this close? Keith’s face is only a hands width away. He can practically feel his breath when he speaks. Lance can only sorta remember the last time they were this close, memories fogged with time and alcohol, but he knows _very clearly_ what happened.

Fuck. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He should move away. He really should. But he can’t. Moving away would be acknowledging that it’s weird, and he really doesn’t want it to be weird between them. That’s what they agreed on, right? No more weirdness? No more awkwardness? If he moves away _now_ , it would just fuel the idea that it’s awkward. Which it’s _not_.

Never mind the sudden pick up in his heart rate and the sweatiness of his palms.

He opens his mouth to respond when suddenly the door is gone.

One moment he’s leaning against it, arguing with Keith, and the next it’s just… gone.

He sees Keith’s eyes widen a fraction, mirroring his own, just a second before they’re both falling forward.

Lance yelps in surprise and manages to catch himself on his hands before his face collides with the hardwood. Nevertheless, he’s sprawled out on the floor with Keith beside him in a similar state, and they both look up to see Pidge standing over them, arms crossed over their chest. They look thoroughly unimpressed.

“You guys do realize it’s not really whispering if you’re loud about it, right?” They say, cocking one eyebrow.

“We weren’t _loud_!” Lance says, pushing himself to his feet. “You just have super sonic gremlin bat hearing or something.” Without really thinking about it, he stretches out a hand to Keith to help him to his feet, only belatedly hoping his palms aren’t moist. _Fuck_. He lets go of Keith’s hand and makes a show of brushing off his pants.

“No, they’re right.” Hunk says from across the room where he’s standing next to the table with the auxiliary cable, phone in hand. Lance only now realizes that the music has stopped. When did that even happen? “We could hear you over our music.”

“Speaking of that…” Lance says, voice smooth as silk as he practically purrs the words, sliding across the room on long legs to his best friend’s side. He drapes an arm over Hunk’s shoulder. “Hunk, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, what song _was_ playing?”

Hunk opens his mouth like he’s about to reply, not a spec of suspicion on his features. Victory is so close to sating his curiosity, he can _taste_ it.

But right before Hunk can make a sound, Pidge cuts him off. “Hunk.” They say sharply from across the room, and Hunk’s mouth snaps shut, blinking at them in innocent surprise.

“Why not?”

“Yeah, _Pidge_ ,” Lance says, glaring at them over his shoulder. “Why not?”

Pidge gives him a flat, unamused look, arms crossed over their chest. Neither them nor Keith has moved from their positions next to the door. “Because it’s _top secret_ , remember?”

“Oh, right!” Hunk says, shifting to hide his phone screen from Lance’s view. He pokes Lance’s chest. “Sorry, top secret, dude.”

“But Huuuunk!” He whines, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and slouching against him. “Come oooon!”

“Are you gonna tell us what song _you’re_ doing?” PIdge asks.

“… Maybe?”

Keith scoffs, and Lance glares at him, willing him to keep his mouth shut. Thankfully, he does. Pidge rolls their eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Come on, Pidge! It’s not a big deal!” He tries again.

“ _You’re_ the one who made it a big deal!”

“They’re right, dude. This is a taste of your own medicine.” Hunk says, shrugging his arms off and patting his shoulder.

Lance pouts because he knows the whole puppy dog look won’t work with them. They’ve known him for too long that they’ve become immune. Maybe if he can convince Keith to try it… No, Pidge has known him longer. They’re probably immune to him, too. Time for Plan B.

B for bet.

“Alright, alright,” He says, standing up straight and collecting his features into something calmer and more confident. He puts up his hands in defeat, casually wandering back over to where Keith and Pidge are standing. He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders slouched as he rolls his head to the side. “Well what’d you guys say to a little wager?” He asks, waggling his brows at Pidge, a smirk on his lips.

They eye him curiously, one brow arched. “A bet?”

“Uh, yeah, unless the definition of wager has changed since I last checked.”

Their expression immediately drops back into unamusement. “I don’t need your sass, McClain.”

His grin widens, and he nudges Keith with an elbow. “I learned from the best.” He catches Keith’s eye and winks. He just snorts, rolling his eyes and looking away, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“What kind of bet are you talking about?” Hunk asks, coming over to stand with them. He looks just as curious as Pidge but a lot less suspicious.

“A dance off, obviously,” He says, grinning from ear to ear as the three of them look at him with various levels of excitement and exasperation. Before anyone can tell him it’s a terrible idea (because it’s not, it’s an amazing idea), he slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder, pulling him close and ignoring how he stiffens. “Me and Keith versus you two. Losers have to show what they have for regionals so far.”

Keith’s brows furrow, lips pursing into that small, confused frown. “But we don’t—“

Lance slaps a hand over his mouth, making him jump. “We _do_ have time for this.” Lance says, loudly, cutting him off. “We’ve already been over this, Keith. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy and all that. We totally have time for this.”

They both know that isn’t what Keith was going to say. He gives Keith a very pointed look, and the guy just glares back at him. After several long moments of staring, he rolls his eyes, grabbing Lance’s wrist to move his hand away. “We should be working.” He says instead of following his original train of thought.

“Yeah, us, too.” Pidge says, checking the clock on the wall. “We’ve still got thirty minutes left of our practice session.”

“Come on, Pidge!” Lance says, slouching into Keith. “Live a little!”

“It… _could_ be fun.” Hunk says, eyeing Pidge sheepishly, pushing two pointer fingers together. They give him a look, and he puts his hands up defensively. “I’m just saying! We’ve gotten a lot done, and we could use a break. Besides… it sounds like fun.” He gives Pidge the puppy dog eyes and Lance knows in that moment that he’s won. PIdge maybe immune to _his_ look, but no one can say no to Hunk.

“Fine,” They say, rolling their eyes. “I’m in.”

“Me, too!” Hunk says, grinning brightly.

“Yes!” Lance throws a fist into the air.

“I’m leaving.” Keith says, shrugging off Lance’s arm and heading toward the door.

“Ooooh, no, you don’t.” He says, grabbing the back of Keith’s shirt and pulling him to a stop. He does so without much resistance. “I need a partner for this dance off, and you’re it.”

He huffs, but doesn’t protest otherwise. Lance takes that as a win.

“So what kinda dance off are you thinking?” Hunk asks. “What kind of songs?”

“I’m good with a randomized shuffled song.”

“Alright, but whose phone? Cause you have some songs on yours that I _really_ don’t want to dance to. No offense.”

“None taken. I don’t care which. I’m flexible and can dance to anything. I vote not Keith’s phone, though. He has an emo playlist on there that he and Pidge use for road trips.”

“You told him of our road trip playlist?” Pidge asks.

Keith shrugs, looking sheepish. “It’s not like it’s a secret. He’s already seen the pictures…”

“I still need to make Matt pay for that…”

“Pidge has the same playlist on their phone,” Hunk puts in. “I’ve seen it.”

“You’re going through my playlists?!” Pidge says, voice rising in pitch.

He shrugs. “Yeah, sometimes, when we’re using your phone. You have some nice selfies saved, by the way. I can tell the snapchat dog filter is your favorite.”

Pidge makes a high pitched indignant sound, gaping at him.

“That just leaves your phone, big guy.” Lance says, lightly punching his shoulder.

“That’s fine with me.”

“Alright, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” Pidge says, sending a wayward glare at Hunk. “We need an actual judge or else we’ll just end up arguing over who won.”

Lance grins. “I have just the judge in mind.”

After that, they all shuffle out of Pidge and Hunk’s practice room and head back toward the stairs. Pidge leads the way, sliding down the rails, with Hunk hurrying after them, fretting and prepared to catch them should they fall. Keith, however, trudges down the stairs slowly, arms crossed over his chest and face sullen as he glares at his feet.

“What’s with the long face?” Lance asks, slowing so they’re taking the steps together. It’s an odd change, given that they usually race down the steps, but… it’s not a bad change.

Keith glances sideways at him, then away, lips pursed. “It’s nothing…”

Lance rolls his eyes, lightly bumping Keith with his hip as the turn on the landing. “Come on, I know you better than that. What’s up?”

“I’m not…” He sighs, and it sounds frustrated. He rolls his head to the side and staring at the wall. “I’m not good at free styling.” He says it like the words are painful to admit.

“Dude, I know that. I’ve seen you at the park, remember?” He says, teasing smile in place. Unfortunately, it does nothing to lessen the tension in Keith’s shoulders.

He looks at him, incredulous. “Then why did you ask for a dance off?” He asks, voice soft so the others won’t hear. “We’re going to lose, Lance. I can’t— I don’t know _how_ to do this.”

“You’re right. You’re probably terrible.” He says, and Keith scowls. “But you’re forgetting one very important thing.” He smirks, putting all his confidence into it as he gestures up and down his body. “You have me.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes, but some of the tension eases out of his shoulders.

As it turns out, Coran isn’t in the front office. Nor is he in the break room or any of the big dance rooms on the first floor. And after a cautionary check, they find he’s not in the bathrooms either. They reconvene in the office, empty handed and not a stray orange hair in sight. Lance is about five seconds away from marching down the halls of each floor, shouting his name, but he’s saved the trouble when Pidge hops over the tall counter and slides easily behind the computer. The three of them step forward, resting their forearms on the counter as they lean over to watch as Pidge pulls up the camera feed from all the different rooms.

“He’s in 2A,” They announce.

Lance snorts. “Figures.”

They start out of the office, and Keith is still dragging his feet. If Lance didn’t know him any better, he’d say the guy was the epitome of indifference. But the fact of the matter is that Lance _does_ know better, and he knows Keith is nervous. He sees it in the way he bites at his lip, in the way his brows pinch, in the way his fingers tap incessantly at his arms. He wonders when he got so good at noticing things about Keith.

He bumps Keith’s shoulder with his own. “Race ya.” He says with a smirk.

Keith narrows his eyes at him. “We’re not racing.”

Lance skips ahead of him, hands in his pockets as he turns on his heel and walks backwards. His smirk stays in place. “Uh, yeah, we are, and right now? I’m winning.”

“I’ll race you.” Pidge says, a gleam in their eyes. All three of them turn to look at them, surprise coloring their features.

“Really?” He says, slow and suspicious.

Their smirk widens, and they try to look innocent. It only succeeds in making them look that much more mischievous. “Really. In fact, I’ll race all of you.”

Hunk puts his hands up quickly, shaking his head. “Nope, no, no, no, I’m staying out of this.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, narrowing his eyes down at Pidge. “What’s the catch?”

“Loser buys milkshakes?”

“Deal,” He and Keith say at the same time. He makes eye contact with him, and gets a small glimpse of his smile before Pidge is suddenly darting forward.

“One, two, three, _go!_ ” They say in a rush just as they reach him. Before he can react, they have a hand on his shoulder and a leg stuck out behind him. They use their forward momentum to push his shoulder. His legs hit theirs, and his knees buckle backwards, his torso falling back and losing his balance. He lands on his ass. Hard. And Pidge is sprinting down the hall, cackling.

Before he can fully recover, Keith is rushing past him. He sputters, flipping onto his stomach and making a last ditch attempt to grab his ankle. Which, in hindsight, is probably a bad idea. He doesn’t need to break his partner’s leg before regionals.

He doesn’t have to worry about it though. Keith easily jumps over his attack. His laughter echoes down the hall.

“Wha— get back here! Pidge, that’s _cheating!_ ” He screeches as he pushes himself to his feet and sprints after them. Pidge has already disappeared into the stairwell by the time Keith makes it to the doorway with Lance hot on his heels.

“I learned from the best!” They shout, and oh boy, is it _on_.

Pidge may have gotten a head start, but there’s one advantage that Lance has: his legs. He takes the stairs two at a time, cutting ahead of Keith at the landing and making it to the top of the stairs before him. He tries to shove past Pidge in the doorway, and they try to block his exit. Keith apparently sees little obstacle with them both being in the doorway, because just as Lance sees him running up in his peripheral vision, Keith is suddenly gone. He goes into a slide, feet first, and slides right under and between them. He scrambles for purchase and is up in half a second, headed down the hall with a cocky smirk thrown over his shoulder.

Pidge and Lance gap for only a moment before they’re sprinting after him.

Luckily, room 2A is at the very end of the hall, and the straight shot gives Lance the perfect opportunity to use his long legs to his advantage. He doesn’t run often, but he’s in shape and sprinting has always been something he excelled at. Besides, milkshakes are on the line.

He manages to overtake Keith right before they reach the room. The door is cracked open, and Lance hits it full speed, bursting into the room. “CORA—“ Keith runs into him from behind and the two of them fall to the floor in a heap. Pidge comes sprinting in a second later and trips over their legs, landing on top of them both.

They all groan, attempting to roll off each other and shoving with legs and arms.

“Do we… want to know?” He hears Shiro’s voice, and rolls onto his back, tilting his head back to see Shiro, Coran, and Allura all standing nearby, gazing down at them with expressions of amusement and curiosity.

“Coran!” He says, throwing his arms up in the air. “Coran, Coran, the gorgeous man!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” That has the man beaming. He squats down next to them, forearms resting on his knees as he gazes down at Lance. “What can I do for you, my boy?”

“I’m here!” Hunk says, bursting through the door. Thankfully, he stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame before he can trip over the pile on the floor. He’s breathing heavily and he bends over. “Geez, you guys are fast.” He straightens a little, lifting an eyebrow as he takes in the scene before him. “Uhh…. what’d I miss?”

“Nothing so far,” Allura says, gesturing to the three of them. “Just… this.”

“Oh, good.”

“Coran!” Lance says again, drawing the attention back to the real matter at hand. He lifts his arms, slapping his palms over Coran’s cheeks and holding his face tight. “We need you to judge a dance off!”

“A dance off, you say?” He says, words muffled as Lance smushes his cheeks.

“A dance off?” Shiro echoes, features relaxed as he crosses his arms over his chest, gazing down at them. He doesn’t look at all surprised, only curious.

“We made a dance off bet.” Pidge says, pushing themselves to their knees before Hunk helps them up. “Loser has to show what they have for regionals so far.”

“Is that so?” Shiro offers a hand to Keith, pulling him to his feet. “You agreed to this?”

Keith shrugs. “I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Damn straight, you don’t, mullet. So what’d you say, Coran?”

He puts his hands on Lance’s wrists and gently pulls his hands away from his face. His smile is bright beneath his mustache, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’d be delighted to help. May I choose the music and dance style for this competition?”

Lance props himself up on his elbows, eyeing the others. They all exchange looks and shrug. He looks back to Coran. “Sounds good to us.”

“This way at least it’ll be impartial.” Pidge adds.

“Alright,” Coran says, putting his hands on his knees and standing with a flourish. “In that case I choose…” He pauses for emphasis, curling his mustache as he looks between everyone. He strikes a pose, dramatic as it is dynamic. His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Ballroom dance!”

Pidge and Hunk groan, Keith looks a little nauseous, but Lance throws a fist into the air with an excited _whoop!_ before stumbling to his feet.

“Oh! That sounds like fun!” Allura says, bouncing on the balls of her feet while clasping her hands. “Can we join in on the bet?”

“No!” Lance and Pidge say together, both loud enough to make everyone else jump.

Allura’s expression immediately drops, and she leans her weight to one hip, crossing her arms over her chest as she pouts. “And why not?”

“Because you and Shiro will obviously win!” He says, and Pidge gestures to him as a silent form of backing him up.

“Well, you said that only the loser has to show what they have for regionals so far. So it sounds like there isn’t so much a winner of this bed as there’s just a loser. So I don’t see the problem.”

Lance frowns, lips pursing. He sighs loudly, throwing his hands into the air. “Fine! Whatever! Join in the bet! You’re all going down anyway!”

Coran shuffles over to the auxiliary chord, mumbling to himself while he searches through his phone, and everyone partners up and moves so that they all have plenty of room. Lance drags Keith to the side of the room and turns to face him, arms held out. Keith doesn’t move toward him. He’s standing there awkwardly, shuffling his weight and eyeing the others warily. Lance doesn’t miss the way he bites at his bottom lip. Something inside of him warms.

“Hey, get over here, mullet.” He says, but his tone is as soft as it is teasing.

Keith looks at him through narrowed eyes, but there’s no real heat there. His lips purse into the smallest of pouts, and he eyes Lance’s hands like he’s going to attack him or something.

Lance huffs, reaching out to grab Keith by the wrist, pulling him in close. “I said…” He takes one of Keith’s hands in his own, resting his other hand on Keith’s hip. “Get over here.” He’s smiling, but it’s small and reassuring. At least, he hopes it is.

“What’re we doing?” He mumbles, free hand floundering in the open air before settling hesitantly on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance shrugs. “We’re winging it. But this is basically standard ballroom position, so we’re gonna wing it from here.” Silence falls over the room as Coran searches for the right song. He can hear the others muttering amongst themselves, but Keith remains quiet as ever. He can feel how tense he is beneath his fingers, how his fingers curl into Lance’s shoulder just a little too tightly. He’s not looking at him, instead staring at Coran with more than a little apprehension. “Hey…” He says softly, shaking their joined hands to get his attention. When Keith looks at him, he smiles. “Chill out, okay? We’ve got this.”

“Lance…” He says, and Lance can tell that he’s trying to sound firm and indifferent, but there’s cracks in his mask. “I’m not… I don’t _do_ improvising. I’m not _good_ at this kind of thing. I don’t know anything about ballroom dances…” He looks uncomfortable, but in a way that’s uncertain and makes him look small and vulnerable.

It’s so unlike him, and Lance can’t decide if he loves it or if he hates it.

“Lucky for you, I happen to be a master of both.” He says, grinning as he waggles his eyebrows.

He doesn’t smile, but he does relax a little bit. “Really?” He asks, sounding skeptical.

Lance shrugs and waves their joined hands around vaguely. “Well… a master at improvising anyway, and that pretty much makes me a master of anything.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works…” He says, but there’s a small tilt to his lips. It’s not quite a smile, but he’ll take it.

“You’ll see,” He says, all confidence.

“Ah! Perfect! Ready, competitors?” Coran says, and Keith jumps, head whirling around to look at him. He looks like a deer in the headlights, and Lance takes pity on him.

“Hey,” He says, hands tightening just a little bit, just enough to be reassuring. Keith looks at him, eyes wide with the beginnings of panic. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

He hesitates for a moment, eyes looking between his own, expression open but strangely unreadable. There’s so many things that pass behind those eyes, far too quickly for Lance to get it all. But then Keith’s expression is softening, and he can feel him relax beneath his fingertips. “Yes.” He says, so softly that Lance has to strain to hear. He then clears his throat, pursing his lips a little as he says a little louder. “Yeah, I do.”

Something electrifying sizzles through his veins, and his smile hurts his cheeks. He cocks his head to the side, trying to corral his expression into something more cocky and less bright. “Then sit back and enjoy the ride, kpop.”

“What do I do?”

“Just follow my lead.”

Coran starts up the music, and Lance is in motion. He silently thanks his mom for making him take ballroom classes with his sister when they were younger. He had thrown the biggest fit about it, but when it came right down to it, the class had been fun. And as one of the only guys signed up, he was never short of a partner. That history, combined with his natural aptitude for winging it, puts him in a pretty good spot for winning this little bet.

It’s just a shame that his dancing partner is pretty much a literal board in his arms.

Keith is beyond stiff from the moment Lance sweeps him up into movement. Lance can tell he’s trying. He really can. But his steps are stumbling, his feet unsure. His posture is slumped as his eyes fixate on the floor, watching their feet like they somehow held all the answers. His hands have Lance’s hand and shoulder in a death grip. If he didn’t know any better, he would be willing to bet Keith hadn’t danced a day in his life.

“Hey, eyes up here.” He says, and Keith’s gaze snaps up to meet his, eyes wide and panicked, even as his brows were pinched with frustration. “Stop fighting my lead.”

“I’m not—“

“You are. You’re stiff, and you’re fighting me. Just… let me lead.”

“I’m— I don’t—“

“Hey, dude, it’s okay, just relax. Go with the flow and don’t think about it.”

“How do I not think about it?”

“Just… trust me, and go with your instincts. Reflexes, you know? You know how to dance, dude, and you’re really damn good at it.” His eyebrows shoot up at this, and Lance frowns. “Yeah, don’t make me repeat that. Point is, just let your body do what it wants to do. Trust _yourself_ and trust me, okay?”

He breathes in deep, closing his eyes briefly. When he exhales and opens them, there’s a fire in that gaze that wasn’t there before. It steals his breath away, punching it from his lungs. This close, in the daylight filtering through the window, Lance feels like he can see all sorts of depths to those irises that he’s never noticed before. Then Keith _smiles_. A small, almost tentative curve of his lips that form a smirk that’s almost cocky. Lance feels his knees shake. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach, he grins. “That’s the spirit. I’m going to spin you out now.”

“Wha—“

Lance spins him out, keeping their fingers locked. Keith stares at him, eyes wide with surprise, but Lance is already tugging him back in.

Things move quickly after that. Lance decides pretty quickly that they’re not winning this thing through pure poise and technique. So he goes with the one thing that he _knows_ he can do: having fun. Keith loosens up considerably, and while he’s not exactly the best dancer, and clearly hesitates, he’s doing a lot better at taking Lance’s direction. He bends when Lance wants him to bend, and he moves where Lane wants him to move. He doesn’t have as much flair, but hey, he’ll take what he can get.

The song is fairly upbeat, but slow enough for Lance to add his own dramatics to it and make it more of a theatric performance featuring his board of wood partner. As they turn, he steals a glance at the others. Shiro and Allura are, as predicted, the picture perfect image of poise and grace. Hunk and Pidge aren’t doing that bad either. They’re not great at it, but at least neither of them looks like they’re two seconds away from a stroke.

Time for some good old fashioned sabotage.

He twirls him and Keith around the room, maneuvering them into the space of their friends. He manages to booty bump Allura, and spins out Keith so he can slap his brother across the face when his free hand flares out. They both laugh as Lance quickly twirls them away before the two can retaliate. They try to do the same to Pidge and Hunk, but they’re more resilient. Lance tries to use Keith as a weapon to trip up Pidge, but Hunk easily sweeps them away. In response, Hunk swings Pidge out, who’s foot connects with the back of Lance’s knees, causing them to buckle. He yelps as he goes down.

But Keith catches him, quickly shifting their grips so his arm moves from his shoulder to wrap around his waist. They end up in a pose very similar to a dip, both of their expressions frozen in panic. But once his momentum stops moving and they realize Keith pulled it off, they’re smiling. Keith pulls him back up, and Lance laughs, swooping him up and around the room in several quick steps. Keith manages to keep up, but just barely.

They add in several moves and lifts that they’ve learned from their time with Shiro and Allura, as well as a couple completely made up steps. Keith falters more with these than Lance does, but at least he’s smiling. For a moment, Lance forgets all about the bet, completely wrapped up in making sure Keith has a good time.

As the song draws to a close, he throws Keith into a dramatic dip, one arm wrapped around his back and the other going behind his thigh, encouraging him to stick that leg straight up in the air. He follows the direction without question, and doesn’t even hesitate to throw his weight into Lance’s arms. Lance dips down over him, and as the last notes fade, he finds himself staring into those dark violet eyes.

He’s grinning. He knows he is simply because his cheeks hurt with it. And he can’t even bring himself to tone it down because there’s a matching grin on Keith’s face. For a fleeting moment, he thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

They’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving as they pant. It’s only then, as the music fades, that he realizes just how close they are. Keith is pressed up against him, arms wrapped around his neck. His hands is hot against the back of Keith’s thigh, and his waist almost seems small in his arm. Has he always been this close to Keith’s face, or have they gotten closer? He can’t tell. His heart is beating a heavy staccato against his rib cage, and it’s loud enough that he’s pretty sure Keith can hear it. He can only hope he can blame it on the dancing.

He can feel Keith’s breath fanning out across his face. Has he ever noticed his freckles before? They’re subtle and really fucking cute, brushing across the bridge of his nose and high on his cheeks. Keith’s eyes are half lidded, lashes long and perfectly framing those gorgeous eyes. He doesn’t think it’s fair that fucking _Keith_ has the pretties eyes he’s ever seen. They’re prettier than Allura’s and Nyma’s and Pidge’s put together, and _those_ are the prettiest eyes he’s seen to date.

His smile has faded from something bright as the sun to something much more subdued but no less sincere. It’s almost shy, sheepish, and they’re so close that he doesn’t miss the way those gorgeous eyes flicker down— to look at his _lips_ — before flickering back up, and _fuck_. _Fuck, fuck, fuck—_

“Well done, everyone!” Coran says cheerfully, clapping his hands together.

It startles him so much that he jerks, nearly dropping Keith to the ground before catching him. Keith looks too startled himself to complain about it. As soon as he’s upright, Lance lets him go, taking a few subtle steps away to put space between them so he can finally _breathe_. His heart is still hammering away, and his palms feel sweaty as ever. He doesn’t know if Keith is feeling as awkward about the situation as he is because he can’t quite bring himself to look at him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

In the end, despite all their efforts, Keith and Lance are declared the losers. He tries to argue against it, but Coran’s judgement is final. The look on everyone’s face when they sheepishly announce that they don’t even have a _song_ for regionals, let alone a routine, is one part disappointment, two parts exasperation, and one part unamused.

Luckily, everyone agrees it wasn’t a _complete_ waste of time because they actually had a lot of fun, and Pidge leaves him alone once he agrees to buy them all milkshakes despite winning the race earlier.

He spends the entire car ride pressed up against Keith in the backseat, and he tries really hard not to think about that. His heart beat doesn’t seem to get the memo.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith is on his fifth shirt choice when his phone rings. He slides it open with his thumb and puts it to his ear, still frowning at himself in the mirror as he looks himself over with a critical eye. “What’s up, Pidge?”

“Keeeith!” They whine through the receiver. It’s loud, and he winces, pulling it away from his ear. “I texted you that we were here _ten minutes ago_.”

“You did?” He looks at his phone, and— yup. So they did.

“Yes,” They say, full of exasperation. “Now hurry your ass up or we’re leaving you behind.”

“We won’t leave you behind!” He hears Hunk say somewhere in the background. “But if you could hurry up, that’d be great. Lance’s break starts soon, and we told him we’d be there.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

“Good!” Pidge says, and they both hand up at the same time.

He takes a moment to look himself over once again, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair. It’ll have to do. He supposes he looks nice enough, though he’s not really sure why he feels like he has to look _nice_. He just… he wants to, okay? And he thinks he _does_ look nice. Simple, but nice. Black jeans that fit his legs and make his ass look nice, simple dark shirt, his favorite boots… Simple, but nice… right?

He hopes Lance thinks so.

And he hates that he hopes that. There’s no reason for him to _want_ Lance to think he looks nice, but it’s there, a thought he can’t get rid of, nagging him as he tries to get dressed, following him as he scowls at his reflection before turning and stomping to the door. He sees Lance a lot, but Lance has rarely seen him in anything that wasn’t dance-able comfort clothes or his work uniform.

The problem is, he _has_ seen Keith in casual clothes, so it’s _completely pointless_ that he’s worrying about what Lance will think of him _now_.

So he pushes down that thought, all that worry, all the second guessing that he usually never feels because who cares what he wears, and he tries to harden his resolve as he locks up his apartment and heads down to where Hunk’s car is idling in the parking lot.

As soon as he opens the door and slides into the backseat, Pidge lets out a loud groan, flopping their head back against the seat to look at him. “About _time!_ What took you so long?”

He shrugs, busying himself with buckling his seatbelt. “I was distracted.”

Pidge snorts, but lets the subject drop. The drive is a relatively short one, but lunch rush traffic makes it feel longer. Keith tries not to fidget in the backseat, but his fingers tap against his thigh and he stares out the window, trying to avoid looking at his own reflection. The urge to fiddle with his hair is overwhelmingly strong, and he hates it. Hunk and Pidge fight over control of the radio, and Pidge ends up winning when they confiscate the auxiliary cable. Sending a mischievous grin over their shoulder and making solid eye contact with Keith, they start up their old emo memories playlist.

Keith can’t help but grin, which morphs into a laugh when Hunk lets out a long, loud groan. Both hands remain on the wheel, but his head hits the headrest hard. “ _Why_ , Pidge? _Why?_ ”

They grin triumphantly. “This is for snooping through my phone. Suffer.”

They spend the rest of the trip singing everything as loudly and obnoxiously as they can, and Keith is once again surprised that he remembers all the lyrics. Hunk groans the whole time, but when they get to Mr. Brightside, he actually sings along. Every time he reaches for the radio controls, Pidge slaps at his hand, fast and precise and Keith can tell from the sharp sound that it hurts. He’s been on the receiving end of those slaps plenty of times. Eventually, Hunk gives up and just slumps in his seat to pout.

“You guys are worse than Lance…” He grumbles as they pull into the parking lot.

“I resent that.” Pidge says, unbuckling their seatbelt as Hunk pulls into a spot.

“But am I wrong?”

“Nope.” They say, popping the _P_.

Keith slides out of the backseat, stretching as he looks up at the building in front of him. It’s big, and the parking lot is bigger, but it’s fairly empty. Perks of coming in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, he supposes. The sign that reads _Adventure Zone_ is bright and neon and in a font that’s probably considered fun or something. It all looks… weirdly ominous to him.

Probably because he knows Lance is inside.

He doesn’t want to think about why that makes him nervous. It’s just _Lance_. Lance, his dancing partner. Lance, his new friend. Lance, the obnoxious doofus with a heart of gold. Lance, the guy who knew how to push his buttons better than anyone else. Lance, who pissed him off. Lance, the needlessly competitive one. Lance, the one who knew how to draw Keith out of his shell. Lance, the one Keith kissed at the club. Lance, the idiot who Keith had actually _enjoyed_ kissing, despite all the awkwardness that followed. Lance—

“Have you ever been here?” Hunk asks, and Keith jumps, turning to look at him.

“Oh, uh… yeah, a couple times.” He says, scratching the back of his neck. “Shiro used to take me bowling here a couple times, and I’ve come with Pidge. It’s been a while though…”

“I had my eleventh birthday party here. We had a laser tag competition. Keith and I slaughtered everyone.” They say, coming up on his other side and offering a fist. Keith obligingly bumps it. “It was brutal.”

Hunk pulls out his phone, checking the time as he starts forward. “Oh man, we’re fifteen minutes late.” He says, brows furrowing.

Pidge waves him off. “He said he wasn’t gonna go on break until we got here anyway, so it’s fine.”

“Yeah, but you _know_ he’s gonna complain about it.”

“When doesn’t he complain?” Keith says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trails after them. Now that they’re here, he can feel his nerves acting up again. What a pain in the ass.

Pidge snorts, and Hunk smiles. “Yeah, but that’s part of his charm.”

Keith hates that he’s right.

The place is even bigger on the inside. From where they walk in, the bowling lanes lay out to the left, and the rock climbing wall lies to the right. He knows from experience that laser tag is near the back. They head for the stairs head down.

As they descend, the lighting changes. The carpet has a base of dark blue with strips and curls of neon swirls set in a consistent pattern. There’s no natural light, and none of the florescent lights like those on the floor above, but the place isn’t entirely dark. The arcade is lit up by more subtle lights, mixed through with black lights that make all the neons pop. The machines light up the maze of games that seem to go on forever, all of them flashing and blinking and making all sorts of sounds to lure people in. Toward the back, he knows there’s an indoor mini golf course, twisting through makeshift caves lit by more neon lights. Music plays softly over the speakers above.

It’s a familiar atmosphere, one that usually accompanies arcades and places like this, but there’s something ominous in the dim lighting, something threatening about the glow of neon beneath his feet. He thinks it’s the anticipation. The tingle beneath his skin, buzzing at his fingertips, making his palms sweat and making him so fucking glad that he’s wearing his gloves.

He has no reason to feel this way. It’s just Lance. He sees Lance several times a week. He spends more one on one time with Lance than anyone else. It’s just Lance. Just Lance. Just Lance. Just—

He sees him from across the room and it’s like a fucking freight train to the chest, punching the air right out of his lungs. He’s standing behind the prize counter, miscellaneous knick knacks and toys strew all around the wall and beneath the counter in an organized but sporadic fashion. There’s light above him and below, in the glass cases, making his station one of the few with solid lighting. It just makes him that much of a focal point.

When they arrived, he was leaning forward across the counter, cheek resting in one palm while the fingers of his other hand tapped against the glass. Upon seeing them, however, he springs up straight, hands slapping down on the counter as his face breaks out in a wide grin.

Keith is pretty sure the air down here is thicker and warmer than that of the floor above. It has to be. Because there’s no way his body is having _this_ kind of reaction to seeing _Lance_. He sees Lance all the time. His uniform is nothing spectacular. Just a fitted dark blue polo tucked into some khaki pants. It’s not unlike his own work uniform. Yet at the sight of him in it, something weird and foreign twists in his chest, heart lodging in his throat.

 _Fuck_.

“It’s about time!” Lance says as they get closer, already moving toward the register. He punches in a few buttons and shouts over his shoulder. “Theresa! I’m going on break!”

“Remember you only have an hour!” Says a woman as she pushes through a door, back first, cardboard box in her hands. She fixes Lance with a hard stare. “Don’t be late. I’m going on break right after you.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it.” He says, waving her off before planting his hands on the counter and vaulting over it, ass sliding across the glass before his legs fall off the other side. The woman just rolls her eyes, tight lipped, but says nothing about it. “You guys are late.” He accuses, hands on his hips as he walks up to meet them.

Keith is pretty sure those pants are too tight to be work appropriate. And that shirt stretches across his shoulders and chest, holding firm to his frame as it tucks into the pants hanging snuggly around his thin waist—

 _Jesus, Keith, get a grip on yourself._ He tears his gaze away, and he’s surprised by how much it feels like _ripping_. He looks over the game machines. There’s so many and so few people. His heart is beating a swift staccato and he silently curses it. _There’s nothing attractive about his uniform. They’re just clothes. Not even good clothes._

He hopes he miraculously developed a kink for polos and khakis, cause if it’s not the clothes, than it has to be Lance. And he’s not ready to admit it’s Lance.

“Yeah, well Keith over here took eighty four years to get ready.” Pidge says, jerking a thumb over their shoulder.

Keith looks up then, and he meets Lance’s eyes over Pidge’s head. He’s convinced he imagines the way Lance’s smile brightens just a fraction, crinkling his eyes. “Hey, mullet.” His voice is weirdly soft, and _that_ Keith is certain he doesn’t imagine, judging from the way Pidge and Hunk exchange glances in his peripheral vision.

“Hey,” He says around the lump in his throat. He tilts his head a fraction, scratching the back of his neck as he licks his lips. Why does his mouth feel so dry? “I, uh, hope it’s okay that I came?” He asks, uncertain as his eyes flicker away, only to be drawn back to Lance’s like a magnet. “Pidge and Hunk invited me, so…”

Lance is already waving him off. “Yeah, of course, dude.” And then Lance is right next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “You’re one of us now, which means you get all the perks that come with my friendship.”

Keith gives him a flat look, raising one eyebrow. “There’s perks?”

Lance gapes at him, leaning back with a hand pressed to his chest for emphasis. He gives Keith a wide-eyed offended stare, but he knows it’s all in jest. He can see it in the way Lance’s eyes light up, in the small twitch of a smile he can’t quite hide. Pidge snickers, and Hunk snorts, covering his smile with a hand.

Lance then leans close again, close enough that Keith is pretty sure he can feel his breath ghosting along his cheek. He then pokes him firmly in the chest. “ _Sassy_.” He accuses in a loud whisper.

Keith just smirks, hoping Lance can’t feel the thud of his heart.

“Alright, if you two are done, we have some games to play, high scores to conquer, and some tickets to win.” Pidge says, already turned away from them and walking away.

Hunk trails after them, pulling his wallet out as they make their way to the token machine. “Are you _sure_ you can’t get us like… a discount or something?”

Lance peels himself away to follow after them, shoving his hands in his pockets, and Keith tries not to focus on the loss of his warmth. “You know I can’t cheat the machines, buddy.”

“Yeah, but like… isn’t there a bucket of tokens or something you can get?”

“Yeaaaah, no, buddy.” He says, coming up beside Hunk and patting his arm while shaking his head. “Sorry, but last time when I did that, I got ripped a new one. I can get us into pretty much everything else here for free, but the arcade is a different matter. It’s out of my hands.” He says with an apologetic smile and nonchalant shrug, holding up both hands for emphasis.

Hunk smiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “It’s no problem, dude. Don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Keith finds himself eyeing their closeness, the ease with which they just.... touch each other. Casual hugs, friendly shoves, mindless poking. It’s comfortable, and it’s normal. Nothing special about it. That’s just who Lance is. It’s how their friend group operates. There’s nothing special about it, nothing that means anything more.

Even if Keith’s heart doesn’t get the memo.

By the time they reach the token machine, Pidge is already feeding it bills, scooping out the tokens and shoving them into the large pockets of their cargo shorts. He has a feeling they chose their outfit specifically for that purpose. When they catch sight of his amused look, they smirk. “Cups are for nerds.”

“The cups are practical.” Lance defends, coming up beside the machine to lean an elbow on the top of it while he waits. “Leaves the pockets open for tickets.”

Pidge snorts, stepping away from the machine only when their pockets were heavily with coins. “Get more pockets then. The cups are for kids.”

Amusement crinkles his eyes as a sly smirk curves his lips. “Then are you sure you don’t want a--“

“Shut it.” Pidge cuts him off with a threatening finger.

He just laughs.

Hunk, likewise, is wearing cargo shorts, and he fills them with just as many coins as Pidge had. When it’s Keith’s turn, he takes a moment to stare at the machine before looking down at himself, a thoughtful frown pursing his lips. He... hadn’t thought this far ahead. His pocket options are very limited... He looks back at the machine, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

“Give me a cup.” He says, holding out a hand to Lance without looking at him.

Lance laughs, reaching out to where they store the plastic cups purely for the purpose of holding tokens. He puts it in Keith’s outstretched palm. “According to Pidge’s logic, you’re a nerd now.”

Keith just shrugs, pulling out a few bills of his own and feeding them into the machine. He busies himself with scooping the coins into his cup so he doesn’t have to look at him. “I’m not exactly wearing pants with loose pockets.”

And he doesn’t miss the way Lance leans a little to the side, or the way he nods in his peripheral vision. “No, you are not.” He says, voice oddly thoughtful and... appreciative? It’s hard to tell, what with the sudden ringing in his ears as his heart decides to pump blood at a lightning fast pace. He keeps his head down, eyes trained on the task at hand. Is it hot in here? He’s pretty sure it is. There’s no other reason for his face to be this warm.

When he’s done, he steps away without a word and gestures for Lance to go ahead. Lance grabs for a cup as well, and Pidge snorts, mumbling _nerd_ under their breath. To which Lance simply flips them off.

Once they’re all set, Pidge leads the charge through the arcade, barely glancing behind them to see if everyone is following. It’s a single minded purpose, and they weave through the aisles of machines with a familiarity that speaks of practice. He’s watching them, eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

Lance must have caught onto his look, because he leans over, loudly whispering in his ear. “Every time they come here, Pidge has to check their fav games to make sure they still have the high score.”

Hunk leans into his other side, whispering just as loudly. “Yeah, and if they’re not, they’ll spend the whole time reclaiming their spot if they have to.”

“I’m not letting any snot nosed brats beat me.” Pidge says from ahead of them, and they all snicker.

Keith recognizes several of the games they stop at from his childhood excursions to the arcade with Pidge. Apparently their favorites haven’t changed much over the years. The first couple games, after a quick check, seem to still have Pidge as the top score. For some of them, they hold several of the top spots.

By the time they reach the third machine in Pidge’s rounds, Keith has lost interest. His gaze wanders around the machines, everything too flashy and too neon for him to really focus on anything in particular. At least he’s finding it easier to breath now, if only a little.

“Hey, Lance! Look!” Hunk says, piquing Keith’s interest.

He follows his gaze, eyes landing on the large dance machine, the screen is huge and flashing arrows and dancing cartoon girls, music set on a random shuffle as it waits for a customer. There’s two raised dance panels, both with arrows at the corners. He’s never done one like that before. All the one’s he’s done had the arrows up, down, left, and right. But a dance machine is a dance machine, he supposes.

Lance snorts. “Yeah, buddy, it’s in the same place it always is.”

“Come on, you’re _always_ excited to do that one.”

Keith turns back around to see Lance scratching the back of his neck with his free hand, eyes turned to the side. “Yeah, well... I do it _all the time_ —”

Pidge snorts softly without looking up from their game. “You got that right.”

“—So you guys are probably tired of seeing it...”

“Come on, man,” Hunk says, elbowing Lance in the side. “It’s always fun to watch, and besides, _Keith_ hasn’t seen yet!”

Lance’s eyes flicker to Keith, and he catches the brief look of uncertainty. “Well, that’s true...”

Keith just looks between them, face blank. “It’s just a DDR machine?”

Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Okay, for one, it’s not DDR, it’s called Pump It Up.”

Keith shrugs. “Same thing.”

“Okay, _no_ —“

“Are you good at it or something?”

Lance chokes for a second, sputtering and eyes bugging before he manages to find his voice. “Good? _Good_? I’m the _best!_.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Care to put your tokens where your mouth is?”

“Bring it, Kogane.”

They make their way to the machine and each claim one of the dance pads. Hunk watches from the side as they insert their coins and shuffle through the songs. He recognizes a few of them, but he’s never danced to them on this game before. He knows Lance has probably played this more than anyone, so he vetoes any song Lance is particularly enthusiastic about.

They narrow it down to two songs by the time Pidge wanders over, and they become the deciding vote between the two.

As the song starts up, he settles into the center of his pad, eyes on the screen and focused in a single minded determination. He hasn’t played a game like this in years, but he’s always been good at rhythm games. He’s never played one where the arrows were in the corners, but it couldn’t be too hard to get into the groove of, right?

Turns out, it’s surprisingly difficult. It takes him a solid fifteen seconds to get used to the new button locations, and those are long, important fifteen seconds. By the end of it, he finds his groove and starts wracking up _perfect’s_ and _great’s_ , but he has a feeling Lance has already pulled ahead in score in the time he spent stumbling over his own feet.

Unsurprisingly, Lance wins. Before he can gloat too much, Keith challenges him to a rematch, claiming that was his warm up. And a warm up it might have been, but Lance still kicks his ass the second time, too. He’s good at rhythm games. He is. He’s good with the patterns and the timings, and he always used to drag Shiro onto these machines as a kid and he was good at it. Objectively, he _is_ good at it.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Lance is phenomenal.

The song ends, and Lance’s top score flashes on the screen. He beams, hands on his hips even as his chest heaves with heavy breaths. Sweat glistens on his brow, but it does nothing to diminish how pretty he is. In a fucking polo and khakis no less. Ugh.

Keith decides to glare at his own score instead, leaning back on the railing behind him, hand on the cool metal to ground himself. He’s a little out of breath himself. He scowls at the screen, like he can somehow get the numbers to change.

“Ha! Told you I’m the superior dancer!” He says, grin far too bright for Keith to look at him.

“Pay up, Pidge.” Hunk says, holding out a hand.

Keith glances sideways in time to see Pidge dropping a handful of coins into Hunk’s open palm, grumbling under their breath. He glares at them. “You were betting on us?”

Pidge rolls their eyes. “Of course we were. And _you_ let me down.”

“That’s what you get for betting against Lance when he practically grew up on this machine.” Hunk says with no small amount of pride, patting the side of the machine fondly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Pidge flips him off before crossing their arms over their chest with a huff.

“Yeah, Pidge, everyone here knows I’m the best dancer.” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his hip to the side. His grin is no less bright when Keith turns to scowl at him.

“It’s hardly dancing.” He says, gesturing to the screen. “It’s just a rhythm game.”

“Uh, it’s totally dancing.”

“Is not.”

“Is so!”

“Is _not_.”

“You know what? You want dancing? I’ll show you dancing. Off.” He’s suddenly stepping toward him, shooing him off the platform.

Keith steps off it, eyebrows raised. “What are you—“

“I’m going to show you dancing.” He says, already putting coins back into the machine, into _both_ sides of it, and shuffling through the songs. He settles on one that’s a lot slower than the ones they were dancing to, which has him pinching his brows in confusion.

A hand lands on his shoulder and Hunk is pulling him back a few steps. When he looks up at him, he’s grinning. “You might want to step back a bit.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Just watch. It’s gonna be great.”

He turns to Pidge, but they’re not looking at him. Their phone is out, camera open and trained on Lance, already recording. When they catch Keith’s gaze, they shrug. “It’s actually pretty impressive, and he’ll kill me if I don’t record it.”

Keith huffs slightly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his weight to one side as he returns his gaze to Lance. He steps off the side of the platform, face oddly set in determination, a fire blazing in his eyes, confidence practically oozing from every pore. It’s a look he gets often, but it’s not quite complete without the smile—

Then he glances over at Keith, and his lips quirk upward in a smirk, causing Keith’s insides to twist and flutter.

_Fuck._

But then Lance is looking away, glancing at the screen once before bending his knees, squatting and bending forward—

“What is he doing?” Keith asks, unable to stop himself. He gawks, mouth dropping open in surprise as Lance plants his head on the platform, puts his hands at the corners, and goes up into a headstand, legs bent and sprawled for balance. He barely wavers.

“This,” Hunk says, crossing his arms over his chest and pride coloring his voice. “Is why we love watching Lance on dance machines.”

“This is why Lance is such a show off with dance machines.” Pidge adds.

“Yeah, but he’s earned it.”

“I suppose.” They say, but there’s a smile in their voice.

Keith thinks they might still be talking, but he’s honestly not paying any attention. As soon as the arrows start moving up player one’s side of the screen, Lance is moving, rotating on his head and using his _hands_ to hit the buttons. He’s not even looking at the screen, and yet he hits the mark every time.

And then his legs are flipping down, feet barely hitting the ground before he’s hoping up on the machine. He practically skips around the pad, spinning as he does so, legs bending and feet extending in rhythm, hitting the buttons right when he needs to. It’s honestly... a lot like something he’d do just freestyling in the park, and yet he manages to time it all with the arrows on the screen. The screen he’s barely even glancing at.

As the arrows fade on the player one side and start up the player two side, he puts one hand on the back railing, landing one hand on an arrow button as he flips his legs over to the second platform. He goes down, spinning around on hands and feet in a crouch and in moves that don’t look unlike breakdancing.

He pauses at one point, in the middle, slapping two arrows with his hands in rhythm like a petulant child. It’s a funny break in the moment, and it has Hunk laughing and Pidge snickering. Keith is too stuck in his awe to do either.

Then he’s up again, shifting between the two sides, feet dancing across the arrows. He throws in flashier moves, like grabbing one ankle behind him and pumping it into the air as he spins. He gets _into_ it, feet dancing around, knees bending and snapping, heels and toes hitting buttons. He does down at several points to slap with his hands before he’s on his feet again. The whole time, he moves around, twisting and spinning. His upper body gets into it, bobbing with the beat, and it really just... looks like dancing.

He’s not just doing a rhythm game. Not like that had been just before.

He’s just... dancing in such a coordinated way that he happens to be hitting the right buttons at the right time.

He gets to into it, head bobbing and arms swinging, not even really looking at the screen. Keith doesn’t realize he’s grinning until he hears the clapping, and he tears his gaze away from Lance to notice for the first time that he’s gathering a small crowd. People are clapping along to the beat, led by a very enthusiastic Hunk. Pidge is whistling loudly, and Lance laughs, head thrown back for just a moment as it bubbles out of him.

Keith’s throat feels dry.

He feels... hot? Cold? Does it matter? He feels something, but he’s not connected enough to his body to really figure it out.

There’s a moment where Lance stops his bouncing movement, sliding sideways across the machines on feet like silk, hands moving like water and limbs flowing in a way Keith has seen him do a couple times but still finds it hard to believe. It’s something he knows he’s learned from Pidge, but it never ceases to amaze him. The switch from bouncing and upbeat, to rolling easy waves, back to bouncing is so quick, and yet it hits him hard.

Lance is _good_. He _knows_ Lance is good. But he’s starting to realize he’s a much better dancer than Keith has ever really given him credit for.

And extremely out of his league.

“He’s incredible...” He says in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like his own.

“I know.” Hunk beams.

Lance spins and twirls, legs moving so naturally but still managing to hit all the right buttons. He goes down on hands and feet again, twisting and bouncing before he’s back upright, spinning again. He even goes up on his hands to hit buttons before gravity takes hold and pulls his feet back down. It’s all so smooth, so coordinated, and yet gives off such a carefree vibe that’s so incredibly _Lance_. It’s unlike anything Keith was expecting, unlike anything he ever expected from a gimmicky dance machine, and now he can’t imagine anyone approaching it any other way.

The last arrows slide up the screen as the song nears it’s end, and the clapping gets more intensive, adrenaline fueling them right until the end of the show. And right when Keith is certain he’s seen it all, Lance steps off the side of the platform before throwing his body forward, doing a front flip and landing with his feet on the two final buttons.

His momentum carries him forward, stumbling off the platform and crashing right into Hunk, who catches him with ease and barely budges. He looks up, exchanging wide grins with Hunk.

“I think that’s a new personal best.” Pidge says, stepping forward to get a closer look at the screen.

Lance’s head whips around. “No way, really?” He comes up beside them, putting his hands on their shoulders as he leans over their head. He squints for a moment, face drawn in concentration before brightening again as he straightens. “Oh _fuck_ yeah!”

He turns then and catches Keith’s gaze. He’s not really sure what expression he’s wearing in that moment, but the cocky smugness that overtakes Lance’s face is enough to let him know he’s gawking. He quickly schools his own expression into something more neutral, more indifferent, but he knows Lance has already seen everything.

He slides up to him, hip cocked and arms crossed over his chest. “So, mullet, how was that for dancing?”

Keith looks to the side, mostly because he’s not sure he can look at him directly. Not with the way his heart is racing and his skin feels like it’s on fire, far too sensitive to everything, even his own clothes. There’s an itch beneath his fingertips that he can’t quite push down.

He holds up a hand, making a _so-so_ gesture. “Eh, it was alright.”

“Alright?” Lance gasps, incredulous. “ _Alright?_ Come on! That was _amazing!_ ” He says, throwing his hands up in the air.

Pidge pats his arm, looking down at their phone. “Don’t worry, you can hear him on the recording saying you’re incredible.”

“Really?” He perks right the fuck up at that, peering over Pidge’s shoulder. “Show me, show me, gimmie.” He says quickly, making grabs for the device.

Pidge elbows him away. “Fuck, Lance— _get off_.” They say, struggling to get away but fighting against Lance’s advantage with longer limbs.

Keith turns and walks off, intent on exploring the arcade, and the other eventually trail after him.

It does take Pidge long to go back to their mission, everyone else following them through the arcade. Hunk gets caught up in a game next to the one Pidge is playing, and suddenly Lance is right next to him.

“What’d you say to a little competition?” He says, waggling his eyebrows when Keith turns to look at him, smirk on his lips.

“Seriously?” Keith deadpans. Why is everything a competition with him? Why can’t they have a normal outting without him turning everything into some sort of contest—

“I mean, I’m already winning after that dance machine challenge, so...”

Fuck it. He’s going down.

“Fine. How many games?”

He taps his chin with the edge of his cup, making the coins rattle. “Five games each? We take turns picking for a total of ten?”

Keith nods, “Fine, but the dance one doesn’t count.”

“Unless it’s tie, in which case my win there is a tie breaker.”

“Fine.”

“Awesome.” His face lights up with a fire that Keith is far too familiar with. It’s two parts cocky, one part excited, and one part determined. It sends a similar energy sizzling through him, settling into a warm heat in his stomach, a ball of fire to keep him pushing forward. He doesn’t care if everything with Lance turns into a pissing contest, the fact remains that it’s usually _fun_.

And just like that, everything seems to click back into place, a familiar normalcy dropping over them like a blanket. The itch beneath his skin calms, replaced by an itch that’s far more familiar. The anxiousness drains, replaced by another energy, an eager and excited one. He feels steadier, stronger, more confident, like slipping into familiar, well worn shoes as opposed to the new ones that were pinching his feet in all the wrong places.

The black lights and flashing lights no longer seem ominous. Instead, they’re suddenly inviting, each of them seeming to reach out, calling to him, urging him forward and whispering for him to kick Lance’s ass. The neon patterns on the dark floor act like guidelines, pulling his feet forward like magnets.

“Who picks first?”

“Me. Let’s go.” He says, grabbing hold of Lance’s wrist and dragging him away. Lance laughs, and gives just enough resistance to be annoying and force Keith to drag him, but not enough to truly be against it.

“Eager to lose, are we?”

“You’re going down, McClain.”

When they get to an intersection, he pauses, looking around, eyes narrowed as he searches for a game he’s pretty sure he saw earlier.

“What’re you looking for?” Lance asks after a moment. His smirk hasn’t toned down in the slightest. “I _do_ work here, you know. If there’s any particular game you’re looking to get your ass kicked on, I’ll know where—“

“There.” Keith says, already starting forward, tugging Lance behind him.

Lance laughs when he realizes what Keith is going for. “Seriously?”

Keith lets go of him, setting his cup on the floor before shoving picking up a couple tokens and throwing a leg over the plastic motorcycle. “Afraid you’ll lose?” He asks, looking up at Lance with a cocked brow and a smirk of his own as he straddles the seat.

“Not on your life.” He says, taking up his position on the bike next to the one Keith has claimed. “I’ll have you know I’m a pro at this game.”

Keith rolls his eyes, inserting his tokens. “Are you going to say that about every game in here?”

“Well, I _have_ spent a lot of time here.You’re ten years too early to beat me.”

“We’ll see.”

As Keith predicted, he wins the race, sliding into a comfortable first place. Lance isn’t too far behind, coming in a descent third out of twelve. He grumbles something about that particular bike being miscalibrated, to which Keith simply snorts his disbelief and rolls his eyes.

Lance drags him across the arcade to where the shooter games are, picking a zombie one and easily slotting in a token before picking up one of the plastic handguns.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “This is a co-op game.”

Lance is already navigating his way through the menu, not even looking at him. “Yeah, but the scores are calculated separately. Highest score wins.”

Keith shrugs, picking up the second gun. Fine.

He ends up holding his own, but Lance is leaps and bounds ahead of him. He stands back, taking up a legitimate shooting position and eyes flickering across the screen, trained and focused. His movements are precise and calculated, focus blazing in those narrowed blue eyes. And it... really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Not with him holding a bright blue plastic gun that’s connected to the game by a thick black chord. But it is, and Keith blames the distraction for his own piss poor score.

In the end, they’re neck ’n neck, and when Lance wins the last game, it ends up rounding out their score to a tie.

And thanks to the deal they agreed on earlier, that meant Lance wins it all. Which means the guy is going to be insufferable.

He groans as he steps away from the last game they played, an old version of Mortal Kombat. He scowls at it and the giant font that says “PLAYER TWO WINS.” He thought for sure he’d win this one, given all the hours he’s spent logged on similar games. He didn’t quite take into account all the hours _Lance_ might have logged on the same games.

“Aw yeah, who’s the king?” Lance says, bumping Keith’s hip with his own. “Come on, Keith, who’s the king of games?”

“Lance—“ He says, meaning for it to be a warning, but Lance cuts him off.

“That’s right, _me!_.”

He does a little dance, one that involves far too much wiggling and makes him look entirely ridiculous. Keith rolls his eyes, scooping up his half empty cup and walking away.

“Whoa, there, Keith. Where’d you think you’re going?” Lance says, catching his arm and pulling him to a stop.

Keith half turns, first looking at where Lance’s hand grips his upper arm before following the trail of dark skin up to his face. “Uh, to find Pidge and Hunk?”

“Nope, not yet.” He turns in the opposite direction, using his grip on Keith’s arm to drag him along.

Keith finds his legs moving willingly after him, even as he frowns. “Where’re we going?”

“You’ll see.” Is all he says, flashing a mischievous grin.They end up in front of one of those photo booths, and Lance finally lets go of him to gesture grandly at it with both hands. “Ta-da!”

Keith gives it a good, hard once over before turning on his heel. “Nope.”

“Oh, come on!” Lance grabs hold of his wrist and tugs, making Keith stumble backwards. He grumbles and scowls, but otherwise lets Lance pull him inside the two person booth.

As soon as the curtain swings shut, Keith feels like he’s made a mistake. The booth is small. Like, _really_ small. Small and cramped and their sides and arms and legs are pressed up against each other. Lance has already put their coin cups on the floor at their feet and is bent forward, fiddling with the photo booth settings.

“Why’re we doing this?” Keith asks, sounding disgruntled as his very real uncomfortableness seeps into his voice.

“Gotta capture the moment.”

“What moment?”

“Uh, the crowning of my kingship? My _winning_ moment? Duh.”

“Don’t get a lot of those, huh?”

Lance glances at him over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Okay, _rude_.”

Keith can’t help it. He smirks, and that seems to be enough to get Lance to forgive him, turning back around to poke at the screen. Keith tries not to fidget as he waits.

“Alright,” He says, leaning back. There’s a smile on his face, but his hands are slapping at his knees, making Keith think that maybe this has got him a little nervous, too. “It’s gonna take four pictures. You ready?”

“No.”

Lance laughs. “Too bad.”

The screen starts counting down to the first picture, a little beep with every tick of the numbers. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls, but Lance nudges him. “Come oooon, _Keith_.” He whines, laughter in his voice. Keith sighs, rolling his eyes, and complies. But only _a little_.

The sound of a shuttering camera is loud and obviously nothing more than a sound clip. The screen flashes and fades, leaving behind an image. Lance’s arm is behind him, putting up a set of bunny ears behind his head. He’s grinning triumphantly. Keith glares at the camera, lip curling upwards as he sticks out his tongue. He’s flipping off the camera.

They only get enough time to glance at the image before it’s gone, replaced by the counter once again.

“Come on, Keith.” Lance says, nudging him. “Smile this time.”

“I did.”

“Baring your teeth isn’t smiling!”

“Says who?”

“Me! Now _smile_!” He reaches out with both hands, one coming around the back of him, and pushes his index fingers into the corner’s of Keith’s mouth, pushing them up into his cheeks.

He’s startled enough that he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he laughs, a more genuine smile fighting to stay down beneath Lance’s fingers as he reaches out, capturing Lance’s face in his hand. He squeezes his cheeks between fingers and thumb, forcing him to make an expression akin to a fish face. He can’t smile, not when Keith has his face like this, but Keith can see the laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes, making the depths of his irises dance with mirth.

He thinks he might be in a similar state.

The numbers continue to count down, beeping getting louder in warning, and they both turn each other’s faces toward the camera. The light flashes, the shutter sound fills the booth, and then there they are on the screen, looking just as ridiculous as he feels.

It’s, admittedly, hilarious.

They both start laughing, grips on each other’s faces loosening but hands not quite pulling away. When he opens his eyes, turning to look at Lance, he’s startled by how close they are. Lance is turned toward him, too, eyes lifting to meet his. Their gazes lock as their laughter fades, leaving behind only soft panting and the shadows of smiles.

The arm around his back relaxes, lying across his shoulders. The other hand hovers in the air for a second before his knuckles are brushing across his chin, up his cheek, fingers lightly tucking away strands of hair behind his ear with a hesitant tenderness.

Keith is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe, his lungs freezing and only able to draw in shallow breaths as his heartbeat jackhammers in his chest. Lance’s skin is warm beneath his fingertips. Without really thinking about it, his hand shifts, fingertips ghosting across his soft, soft skin, moving to cup his cheek in his palm.

_Beep._

They’re close enough that Lance’s breath, short and shallow, ghosts across his cheeks. He feels the hitch in his breath more than he hears it.

_Beep._

Lance’s fingers sink into his hair, so slowly and so softly that it sends shivers down his spine.

_Beep._

His thumb moves of it’s own accord, caressing Lance’s cheekbone. How is his skin so _soft?_

 _Beep_.

Their noses bump, and though they’re close enough that Keith is expecting the touch, it still sends electricity shooting through his veins, lighting a fire beneath his skin. The touch is so light, so hesitant. They pull apart, only to come back together, firmer this time, tilting their heads in just a way that their noses brush.

He think he feels Lance’s lips against him, so brief and so fleeting that he might have imagined it.

He hopes he had.

He hopes he hadn’t.

A flash. A shutter sound. The picture is displayed on the screen, but neither of them turn to look at it.

He doesn’t know who instigates it, who finally closes that distance, crosses that line, and quite frankly, he doesn’t _care_. All he knows is that he’s suddenly kissing Lance, and that’s all he wants to think about about.

It fills up his senses, Lance’s scent in his nose, his soft skin beneath Keith’s fingertips, the taste of his lips, the softness of his mouth even as he pushes more firmly against him, more insistently, lips groping for more before pulling away, head tilting to the side to get a better angle as he moves forward again, lips sliding together.

He’s not drunk this time. He can feel all of it. He’s fully aware of the way his heart pounds hard against his rib cage. He can hear the whistle of his breath, heavy as he exhales against Lance’s cheek. He can hear the ringing in his ears as blood pumps far too fast, far too quickly. He can feel every little detail in Lance’s lips. He can feel that they’re a little thicker than his own. He can feel the beginnings of stubble not quite formed on his upper lip and around his chin. He can feel that his lips aren’t chapped at all despite the fact that Keith is sure that his own are.

They’re eager and firm and demanding. They’re soft and pliant and sweet.

He’s not drunk this time, but holy _fuck_ does he feel intoxicated.

There’s a spark of something in his chest, a brief panic that tightens his chest and makes his stomach roll. There’s a voice in the back of his mind, telling him to _stop, slow down, think about this._ All of it is easily drowned out by the flood of _LanceLanceLance_.

In that moment, he doesn’t care about logical thinking. He doesn’t care about any repercussions. He doesn’t care what he should and shouldn’t be doing. He doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t care. All he knows is he wants more.

More.

 _More_.

Shutter sound. Flash of light on the back of his closed eyelids. Hell, he hadn’t even heard the beeping this time. He thinks about the fact that there’s now photographic evidence of this moment, and that’s enough to nearly kill the mood, but then he lightly sinks his teeth into Lance’s bottom lip and tugs and he fucking _moans_ , low and soft and—

Fuck it. He doesn’t care anymore.

He pulls away, ignoring the soft whine that escapes Lance as he leans forward, chasing after him. His eyes crack open, a worried pinch between his brows before they’re blowing wide as Keith moves. He shoves Lance back in the seat, shifting awkwardly and impatiently until he’s straddling Lance’s lap, knees on either side of his thighs and hips.

Lance stares at him, open mouthed and gawking, eyes wide and hands hovering uncertain. Keith doesn’t give him time to say anything stupid and ruin the moment. He wraps his arms around his neck, burying fingers in his head and tilting his head back as he swoops in to reclaim his mouth.

He takes advantage of Lance’s surprise to lick into his mouth. Lance only hesitates for a moment before his eyes are fluttering closed, his hands coming down on Keith’s hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to rest on bare skin, pushing back into the kiss, giving as good as he gets. He kisses back with just as much sudden fervor and hunger as Keith feels himself, and it only sparks his own desire to spiral further, heat burning bright in his veins, electricity beneath his skin, building and burning.

Their kissing is sloppy and uncoordinated, lips and hands unfamiliar but oh so willing to learn. It’s not the best kiss he’s ever had, but he doesn’t give a _shit_. He’s enjoying it all the same.

Too bad his strategy of keeping Lance from saying anything stupid doesn’t work.

“Holy shit,” He mumbles, lips moving beneath Keith’s. “Holy _fuck_.” He sounds breathless, but clearly not breathless enough.

“Lance, shut up.” He growls, biting down on his lip again, a little more sharply this time. He gasps, inhaling sharply and letting it out in a long, low moan. His fingers tighten before relaxing, hands getting braver by the second, inching up and down his sides. Up, down, slipping beneath his shirt, up again, down to his hips, down his thighs, back up.

“Holy fuck, we’re making out—“ He says, gasping a little as he pulls back to breathe. He doesn’t go far, merely tilting his head to the side.

Keith isn’t done with him though, not ready to stop. He slides his lips down, along his jaw, reaching his ear and kissing just below it. He _feels_ Lance shutter beneath him before he starts trailing open mouthed kisses down his neck. “Yeah,” He says simply, ignoring how he sounds just as breathless.

“ _Again_.”

“Yup.” He bites at his collarbone before licking his way back up the column of his neck. His head tilts to the side, giving Keith access to that tight, soft, deliciously dark skin.

“Holy _fuc_ — we’re sober this— you’re not drunk, right?” He’s rambling. Keith wants him to stop, enjoy the moment, be _quiet_ for _once_ in his goddamn life. At the same time, he doesn’t. Keep talking. Let him hear how broken he sounds, let him know that Lance is just as affected by this as he is.

He lifts his head to look at him. Their noses bump, breaths intermingling. Lance’s eyes are half-lidded and dark, pupils blown wide. Keith licks his lips, trying to find his voice, and he sees the way Lance’s eyes flicker down at the movement before snapping back up.

“Do you wanna stop?” He asks, voice low, cautious, hesitant, reluctant. He’s offering Lance an out, a way to stop this before it gets to far, because Keith isn’t sure he can do that himself.

Lance doesn’t hesitate. “Fuck no,” He says, though it’s more of a sigh than anything. His eyes search Keith’s. “Do you?” He sounds small. Keith doesn’t like when he sounds small.

Keith snorts, soft and short. “If I did, do you think I’d be in your lap?”

A smile cracks his lips then, chasing away the shadows. “Fair enough.”

He leans forward and captures Keith’s lips again, and he’s perfectly fine with that. A hand slips up the back of his shirt, fingers surprisingly gentle as they explore the bumps of his spine, like he’s something fragile that just might break. One of his hands curls fingers into Lance’s hair, tilting his head back further and swallowing down the resulting gasp. His other hand grips at the back of Lance’s shirt, that goddamn polo, fabric clutched tightly in his grasp.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, right?” Lance whispers between the bob of their lips, the push and pull, forward and back. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Either way, relief floods him, relief that he hadn’t known he needed to feel. A ball of tension he hadn’t recognized in his fervor melts, relaxing his shoulders and the muscles in his stomach. He doesn’t know _what_ this means, and he doesn’t know what he _wants_ it to mean. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, and that’s okay. Like Lance said, and like he said last time this happened: it doesn’t have to mean anything.

It doesn’t have to if they don’t want it to.

They can do what they want, go with the moment, no strings attached, no pestering thoughts and worries to taint the moment.

He should probably be worried, but he doesn’t care. Not right now. Now with Lance’s lips, hungry and pliant beneath his own. Now with the way Lance licks into his mouth, exploring in a way that’s pleasantly demanding, but falling back the moment Keith pushes forward to do the same. Push and pull. Give and take. Ebb and flow.

 _It doesn’t have to mean anything._ It doesn’t have to mean any more than these sensations that he’s chasing. The relief is more intoxicating than the taste of Lance’s lips, and he finds that without that hovering tension, he has no reason to hold back. His hips rock forward before falling back, and he revels in Lance’s surprised gasp, in the way those hands clutch at him. He does it again, and again, trying to commit the feeling of Lance’s lips to memory.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” He repeats between broken breaths, giving Lance the assurance he had given him.

“Just two dudes being dudes?”

“Lance—“

“Bros being bros?”

“ _Stut up_.”

“Make me.”

He does. And he does a thorough job of it.

“Lance?” Hunk’s voice breaks through their little bubble of solitude.

They both freeze, Lance going stiff as a board beneath him, lips suddenly still as stone. He opens his eyes to find Lance’s, wide in panic and staring right at him. All the sounds from the arcade come flooding back: voices, the pings and music and voices from all the various machines, the distant crash of bowling pins from somewhere above, the soft jingle chiming coming from the photo booth screen, the radio playing distant but distinct.

“Keith? Lance!” Hunk calls, closer now.

“Where the fuck are you guys?” Pidge’s voice carries to them

“Pidge, you can’t just say fuck in a place where kids are!”

“ _You_ just did.”

“Oh, _fuc_ — I mean! Shit— shoot, _ugh_.”

If they stay here, they’ll be caught. He knows it, and judging from the way Lance tenses, he knows it, too. They’ll come around the corner and see Lance’s fucking khaki’s beneath the short curtain of the booth, pull it back, and find Keith fucking straddling his lap.

 _Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck_.

Then Lance is suddenly shifting him off to the side, slipping out from under him, pulling back the curtain on the opposite side from where they’re hearing their friends’ voices. He steps out, holding the curtain back as he stretches a hand out to Keith. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

Keith takes his hand, and Lance pulls him out of the booth. They get two hurried steps away before Keith is tugging him to a stop.

“What’re you doing?” Lance hisses, turning back to look at him. He tugs on Keith’s hand again, urging him onward.

Keith remains where he is. “The pictures.” He says, gesturing to the booth.

“Leave ‘em.”

“Pidge and Hunk will see them.”

“They already know we’ve kissed before.”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you for telling them. Second of all, do you want them to know we did it again?”

He blanches a little at that. “... No.”

Keith lets go of his hand, darting back to the booth and reaching out from behind the curtain on the other side, snatching up the two strips of printed photos waiting innocently in the little tray. He doesn’t look at them before shoving them into his pocket and hurrying back to Lance. He’s already holding his hand out again when Keith returns, and he takes it without hesitation.

Lance then leads him through the arcade, practically running and dragging Keith behind him. He tries to keep up, but he feels like he can’t get enough air to his lungs and his feet are strangely wobbly, causing him to stumble after Lance.

He doesn’t really pay attention to where they’re going. They stumble along the aisles, machines and lights flashing past them, chasing after the neon designs on the midnight carpet. When Lance finally stops moving, Keith doesn’t register it at first, running into him from behind. They stumble, and laugh, and hold onto arms to keep the other from falling over. They’re breathless, excitement and adrenaline buzzing in the air around them.

Lance has dragged them somewhere off to the side, deep within the maze of the arcade. They’re tucked into the space between lesser used machines, backed up into the corner, walls and games caging them in. They can’t see anyone, and he’s willing to bet no one can see them.

“I can’t believe we’re running from our friends.” Lance says, grin spreading his lips.

Keith returns the smile, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He knows why they ran from their friends, and he knows Lance does too.

It’s in their mused hair and flushed cheeks. It’s in the way Lance licks his lips, half lidded eyes dropping to Keith’s lips before flickering back up to his eyes. It’s in the way Keith steps forward and Lance backs up until his back hits the wall, not running but leading. It’s in the way Lance’s hands slide up his chest to wrap his arms around Keith’s neck. It’s in the way Keith’s hands find his hips, his waist, tugging his polo free before slipping his hands beneath his shirt to find warm, soft, bare skin. It’s in the way he presses in close and pins Lance to the wall with his body. It’s in the way Lance’s leg hitches up, latching around his hip. It’s in the way Keith’s hand runs down his thigh.

It’s in the way Lance licks Keith’s bottom lip. In the way Keith opens up immediately. In the way they’re suddenly kissing again, slower this time but no less hungry. More precise, easier, more comfortable, like they’re learning more and more about each other and adjusting accordingly.

Time loses meaning, nestled the way they are in the corner, away from prying eyes, surrounded in a nest of neon, blanketed in black lights, packed in with the beeping and music of games no one plays. He doesn’t know how long they kiss. He only knows sensation. He knows their mouths and chins are wet, he knows his lips will probably be sore. He knows he can’t remember the last time he could breathe properly. He knows he’s straining against his tight jeans. He knows Lance is warm against him, pressed firmly against the wall, so warm, so inviting.

“I could have sworn I saw them come this way...”

They both freeze at the sound of Hunk’s voice, breaking apart at the mouth, but bodies unmoving.

“ _Fuck_.” He swears under his breath, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He glances over his shoulder, seeing nothing around the machines blocking out most of the arcade.

“They won’t find us here.” Lance whispers, voice a little too loud for comfort. “No one ever comes back far enough to actually see this spot. All the games back here are the unpopular outdated ones—“

“They will if you don’t _shut up_.” He hisses.

Lance’s lips, swollen and cherry red and glistening, curve into a cocky smirk. His fingers play with the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck. “Why don’t you make me—“ His voice is coy, deep, rumbling, and sends a shutter straight through him, but it’s _not_ what they need at the moment.

Keith slaps a hand over his mouth to cut him off and shut him up. Lance startles, eyes widening for a moment before narrowing into a glare, letting Keith know this was _not_ what he had in mind. Too bad.

“Are you sure?” Pidge’s voice drifts back to them. They’re probably a good distance away, but Keith feels like he can hear their voice loud and clear. “I didn’t see anything.”

“I thought I saw Lance...”

“It could’ve just been another employee.”

“I guess... but I could’ve sworn...”

Lance suddenly rolls his hips forward, rocking them against Keith’s. The movement is fluid, a roll of his body so calculated, so slow, so devastatingly precise. Keith can clearly feel him pressing firm against the material of those goddamn tight ass khakis.

Keith’s spine straightens, and he has to bite back a moan. Before he can fully recover, Lance is rolling his hips again. Keith jerks forward, burying his face in the crook of Lance’s neck, hand still firmly pressed to Lance’s mouth as he exhales a shaky breath against the skin of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it. Those two idiots are probably still having their contest or whatever. They’ll find us when they’re done.” He hears Pidge say.

“Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Nope. How much trouble can they get into in the middle of the day in a public arcade? Come on, I’ve still got half my tokens and I wanna get some tickets.”

Lance rolls his hips again, and again, a steady movement building, subtle and slow but far, far too effective. Keith lets out the whisper of a groan, nipping at the slope of Lance’s neck as he finds his own hips reacting, rolling to meet him. “ _Fuck_...” He breathes out.

He _feels_ Lance chuckle low in his throat.

“Fine,” Hunk says. “But I’m not responsible if they burn down the arcade.”

Their voices fade away, and Keith relaxes against Lance.

He lifts his head, glaring at him, lips pursed in a small frown. His hand still covers Lance’s mouth, but he can see the smile in the lift of his cheeks, in the mirth dancing in his eyes. Those fucking blue, blue eyes.

“You,” He hisses accusingly. “Are a fucking _tease_.”

He finally moves his hands, and sure enough, Lance is smiling. It’s a lopsided half smirk, cocky and confident despite the disheveled state of him, that the sight of it _does things_ to Keith’s insides. “Shut up and kiss me, Charlie Sheen.”

“Don’t fucking call me mullet names when we’re making out.” He growls against Lance’s lips, nipping at them playfully just to draw sounds out of him.

“We’re not making out if you’re talking.” He says, coy, flirtatious. It’s more than Keith can handle, so he shuts him up.

They barely get into it again before a throat clears loudly nearby. It startles them both, and they jump apart. Keith leaps away, and Lance nearly falls over when he’s no longer being pinned to the wall. They both whip around and find themselves gaping at the guy standing between two machines, staring at them with a bored expression. He’s wearing the same uniform as Lance.

“Dude, I know it’s your first time in the make out corner and all, but your break has been over for nearly ten minutes, and Theresa is getting pissy.”

“Shit, fuck, okay,” He says, haphazardly attempting to shove his shirt back into his pants. “I’ll be right there.”

The guy just shrugs and walks off, like he hadn’t just caught the two of them dry humping against the wall in a corner of his fucking work place.

Keith turns to Lance, one eyebrow raised as he runs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess that he knows Lance has made of it. “The make out corner?”

Lance is already flushed, but Keith gets the pleasure of seeing him redden even more, eyes flickering to him before quickly looking away. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’s what we call this corner. It’s the only private place where people and cameras can’t see you, so... yeah.”

“I see.”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith.”

“I didn’t say anything.” But he’s grinning from ear to ear and he knows it.

“Whatever, I gotta get back to work.” He says, shuffling backward awkwardly, unable to hold eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“So... yeah.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll... see you later?”

“Yeah.”

“No weirdness?” He asks, looking up at him through his lashes, biting his reddened bottom lip, the same one Keith had been biting only moments before. His voice is small, hesitant.

“No weirdness.” Keith promises, firmer, filled with conviction, which he hopes is comforting.

It seems to do the trick. Lance brightens immediately, straightening as he skips back a few steps. “Cool, cool. Later, Keith!”

He lifts a hand to wave, and Keith lifts one in response. Then Lance is turning and sprinting away. Left alone, the bright lights and sounds and neon are no longer as comforting, but they also don’t hold the same ominous air they had earlier either. Energy still hums through his veins, excitement like a drug in his system. He thinks about Lance working at the prize counter, of the two half full cups of tokens back at the photo booth, of all the games he knows will give the most tickets.

A small smirk playing across his lips, he starts off into the maze of the arcade, purpose in his steps.

 

* * *

 

Lance is, admittedly, a mess. A hot fucking mess. He keeps tripping over his words, tripping over his own feet, dropping boxes, knocking over rows of prizes. And it’s all because of _Keith_. Stupid Keith with his stupidly hot mouth and hot body, warm and firm and soft and pushing him against the wall, pushing that hot wet tongue into his mouth—

Fuck.

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

He’s gotta stop daydreaming, or he’s gonna have a serious problem on his hands. Or in his pants. _Goddammit_. This is gonna be the longest shift of his life.

He’s only been back at work for an hour and a half (he knows, he’s been staring at the clock, watching it pass achingly slow), when his friends approach the counter, ticket receipts in their hands. He grins as he takes them, chatting idly and sincerely hoping they don’t notice how frazzled he is. Keith hangs behind Pidge and Hunk, silent as ever, eyes watching his every move. He drops Pidge’s chosen prizes twice and nearly knocks down a neatly stacked pile of toy cars when he reaches for the plastic lion that Hunk wants.

They say their goodbyes, tell him to stop by after his shift for dinner. They turn away, walking back toward the stairs.

And then he’s left with Keith.

Keith hands him his receipt, and Lance’s eyes bulge at the number. “Holy crow,” He whistles, impressed. “How did you get so many?”

He shrugs. “You left half of your tokens. Plus Pidge taught me the art of grinding tickets a long time ago.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He steps back, gesturing to the wall behind him. “So what’ll it be?”

Keith’s eyes roam over the wall, down through the long glass counter. He takes his time, and Lance watches him, admiring the curve of his nose, the high cheekbones, the swell of his lips, just a little more plump than they usually are. He did that, and that sends a shiver through him.

“This one,” Keith says, tapping the glass.

Lance walks over to where he’s standing, peering down through the glass. He lifts his gaze, eyebrow raised. “Seriously?”

Keith nods once, leaning back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yup.”

“That’s like... most of your tickets?” Despite the fact that Keith had an impressive amount, the prizes are priced high. Far too high for the cheap plastic bobbles that they are, but hey, that’s the nature of arcades.

Keith just nods again before gesturing to where the candy is kept. “And a couple of those.”

“Alright,” He says slowly, opening up the back of the counter to retrieve the chosen prizes. He sets three lollipops on the counter and one gaudy silver tiara with a shit ton of plastic blue gems imbedded into it. He eyes the prize, eyebrows raised. “Why the hell do you want _this_ —“

He doesn’t get to finish his question. Keith reaches forward and takes it, lifting it into the air and nestling it atop Lance’s head.

He just stares forward, lips parted in surprise and eyes wide. Keith is close, but not nearly as close as he was before. Not as close as he wants him to be again.

He cocks his head to the side as he steps away, smirk curving his lips as he swipes the lollipops off the counter. He shoves two in his pocket before ripping the wrapping off the third, shoving the bright red candy into his mouth. Lance watches, unabashed and far too intent on how it colors Keith’s already red lips.

He pulls out the candy with a _pop_ , taking several slow steps backwards. “Long live the king.” He says, playful, teasing, smirk in place. Then he spins around on his heel, striding off after Pidge and Hunk, and Lance is left gaping, eyes fixated on his back.

_Can you feel it?_  
_Now it’s coming back,_  
_We can steal it._  
_If we bridge this gap,_  
_I can see you,_  
_Through the curtains of the waterfall._

The music plays through the speakers above, cutting through the ringing in his ears. Keith disappears up the stairs, and Lance is left alone, but he’s buzzing, alive with energy, unchecked and excited, dancing across his skin.

 _When I lost it,_  
_Yeah you held my hand,_  
_But I tossed it,_  
_Didn’t understand,_  
_You were waiting,_  
_As I dove into the waterfall._

He plucks the tiara off his head, holding it in both hands as he stares down at it. It’s cheap, it’s plastic, the gems are dull and barely reflect any light, but their color is still brilliantly blue. It’s big and gaudy, costs far too many tickets for it’s worth, but it’s his now. Keith gave it to him.

 _So say Geronimo!_  
_Say Geronimo!_  
_Say Geronimo!_  
_Say Geronimo!_

His head snaps up, the chorus filling his ears, swirling around his mind, calling out to the energy humming through his veins, tugging on his limbs like strings, moving him, uncontrollable, adrenaline finding the chords, the beat, the vibe, latching onto it and using it as a guide, shifting something in his chest— _This!_ _This_ is _it!_ The feeling! The vibe! _IT!_

He puts the tiara back on his head, fully intent on wearing it for the rest of his shift, and fumbles to get his phone out of his pocket. His fingers shake with built up energy, excitement, adrenaline, but he quickly finds Keith’s contact information, shooting him a quick message.

 **vive la lance:** I FOUND IT! I FUCKING FOUND IT  
**fuck off:** found what?  
**vive la lance:** OUR REGIONALS SONG  
**vive la lance:** I FOUND IT  
**fuck off:** link me  
**vive la lance:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL_EXAyGCkw  
**vive la lance:** ….  
**vive la lance:** ………  
**vive la lance:** weLL??  
**vive la lance:** cmon keith youre killin me  
**fuck off:** I like it  
**vive la lance:** yeAH??  
**fuck off:** yeah  
**vive la lance:** YEAH??  
**fuck off:** yeah, let’s do it  
**vive la lance:** fuck yes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can pry the photo booth troupe from my cold dead hands.
> 
>  **References for the Dances:**  
>  Lance on the dance machine: [Don't Bother Me (Caution) - Tashannie](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/post/149078896801/silverlightpony-videohall-is-and-continues)
> 
>  **Their Regional Song:** [Geronimo - Sheppard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL_EXAyGCkw&list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6&index=3)
> 
> Fun fact: when looking for dance style videos, this was the first one I found that just screamed _Lance_ to me, so of course I had to add it somehow. Sora and I have also had Geronimo picked out for their regionals song since the beginning.
> 
>  **NOTE:** I wrote a long note about this on _The Marks We Make_ , but I'm gonna summarize it here, too (though the readers for this fic haven't been nearly as persistent). I just want to say PLEASE DON'T ASK FOR UPDATES. I update as often as I can. I have three ongoing fics right now, plus my job, plus my life. Asking for updates is irritating and makes me lose motivation, which can make the writing process very difficult. Just because it's been a while since the last update, please don't assume it's been abandoned. Have a little faith in me. 
> 
> If you want to see the first half of chapters before they get posted here, please check out my tumblr or twitter for ways to support me.
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/161102633834/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-10-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	11. Shape of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge only gives him a brief moment to think before continuing. “Maybe the reason he doesn’t take your suggestions seriously is because he doesn’t think _you’re_ taking _him_ seriously.”
> 
> “But I am!” 
> 
> “Then show him.”
> 
> He blinks. “How?”
> 
> Pidge shrugs then. “Learn the routine he’s been working on. Prove to him that you’re serious. Then show him your patented Lance McClain flair.”
> 
> “That’s... not a bad idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter is where that M rating starts to come into play a little bit. If NSFW isn't really your thing and you'd rather skip it, it comes up at the end of the chapter. It's pretty easy to see it coming, so when it's too much, just end the chapter there. You won't be missing any important plot details. There's also a fourth slightly NSFW drawing that Sora did for this chapter, but it's linked in the end notes so people who aren't into that sort of thing aren't forced to see it, so don't forget to check it out!
> 
> Stay safe, my dudes, and happy reading!

When he was ten, Lance learned how to surf.

They were on a family vacation. A big one. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, cousins, cousins. They rented out a house, right on the beach. It was cramped and most of them slept on the floor. You couldn’t take three steps without stepping on someone or something, and the place was filled with voices, laughter, and the smell of spices at all hours of the day. His dad and uncle tried to teach all the kids to surf that summer, but only Lance really picked it up.

He loved it. Couldn’t get enough.

He fell a lot at first, got frustrated a bunch, nearly gave up, but he stuck with it. And the first time he rode successfully through a wave, it was euphoric. Brought him back time and time again. Just to get another taste.

As he got older, he got better. Surfed at different beaches. Got a taste of different waters, different waves. Got a feel for different boards. He doesn’t get to surf as much as he’d like, but he loves every second he gets. He gets rusty sometimes, but it’s never hard to get back into the groove.

What he likes best about surfing, he thinks, is that it’s an Experience. Capital E and everything.

Every time he surfs, it’s always different. Always a different wave. Each unique and unlike any before it or any after it. Surfing is always surfing, no matter where he goes, but there are always things that make it a unique experience. The people. The water. The waves. The temperature. The beach. The season. The weather. Each variable combining into a special moment entirely of its own.

At it’s heart, it’s still surfing, but it’s the excitement of each new time that keeps him coming back time and time again. The promise of something new. The unknown of what will happen the next time. The anticipation. Knowing he’ll enjoy it but not knowing what this time will bring.

So yeah, surfing is an Experience.

As it turns out, kissing Keith is also an Experience for much the same reasons.

And just like surfing, Lance finds himself coming back time and time again, unable to help himself and unable to regret it.

 

* * *

 

“And if you pause right after the beat drops, like—“ He strikes a pose, waiting a moment for Pidge to strike one opposite of him. They’ve always done a good job keeping up with his jumbled thoughts as he works through dance moves. “Then pick it back up from here—“ He moves, and Pidge moves with him. Slowly. Much slower than the actual beat of the song, but that’s fine. They’re just testing out movements. “You should be able to seamlessly shift into the next move _here_ —“ He demonstrates by stepping right into the already choreographed section they had shown him earlier, only going through a few moves before grabbing Pidge’s hand and suddenly sending them into a twirl. “Ta-da!”

Hunk claps slowly from where he’s watching from the sidelines, letting out a low whistle. “That looked great, Lance! Do you think you could, uh... go through all of that again? Slower? Maybe?”

He nods. “Yeah, no problem, buddy.” Lance lets Pidge go, and they twirl a couple more times before coming to a definitive stop. No wobbling. No swaying. And Lance hadn’t exactly spun them lightly. He put enough force into that to make the most sturdy of people dizzy. Yet here Pidge is, standing perfectly still and straight like it made no difference.

Pidge’s epicenter of balance is both impressive and mildly terrifying.

They take a moment to adjust their glasses. “I’m pretty sure I remember everything.”

 _”I’m pretty sure I remember everything_.” Lance mocks, hip cocked and hand making talking motions.

Pidge rolls their eyes. “Photographic memory, dude. It applies here, too.”

“Bet you can’t do it up to speed.”

A glint off their lenses as they tilt their chin, a smirk at the corner of their lips. “You’re on.”

They slip into position, and Lance gestures to Hunk with a flourish. “Let the music play!”

As it turns out, Pidge makes it through with barely any hesitation, which Lance likes to attribute more to his ability to lead rather than their ability to remember. After that, they go through it again slower with Hunk hovering next to Lance, mimicking the motions. Then several more times with just the two of them and Lance supervising.

“So, like, not that I don’t appreciate you helping us and everything,” Hunk says fifteen minutes later when they decide to take a break. Lance is lying on his back at the front of the room, legs propped up on the mirror, crossed at the ankles. He looks up from his phone to raise an eyebrow at his friend towering over him. “Cause I do— _we_ really do— we’ve been stuck on this transition for _weeks_ , but Pidge didn’t want to go to you like we usually do cause you made such a big deal out of seeing our routine, and they wanted to teach you a lesson for being a brat.”

“Hey!” Lance says, brows furrowing as he scowls, tilting his head back so he can glare at Pidge.

They only shrug, one hand on their hip and the other holding their water bottle to their lips. “You would have done the same.”

Lance considers that for a moment, expression relaxing as he shrugs. “True.”

“My point is,” Hunk says, sitting himself on the floor next to him and crossing his legs as he leans back against the mirror. “We’re grateful and everything, but, uh, don’t you usually have practice, too? Like... at this time? Specifically?” He looks back and forth between Lance and Pidge, who’s brows furrow as they turn to glance at the clock on the wall.

When both pairs of eyes return to him, Lance fidgets, squirming a little in place as he avoid eye contact. “Usually, yeah, but... uh...”

“Lance, what did you do this time?” There’s a sigh in Pidge’s voice that has him bristling.

“Why do you think _I_ did something?!” He snaps, throwing his arms up in the air and tilting his head back to glare at them.

They look thoughtful for a moment, arms crossed over their chest, water bottle dangling from their fingers, hip cocked to the side. They nod slowly. “Good point. What’d Keith do this time?”

And... okay, that’s not really a better question. His arms drop, crossing over his chest as he turns his face away from both of them, grumbling a disgruntled, “Nothing...”

“Soooo... it _was_ you?” Hunk tries.

“No!”

“Forgive me, buddy, but I’m not really seeing the problem here. If neither of you did anything wrong then...” He trails off, but Pidge picks up where he leaves off.

“Then why are you here?”

He sighs loudly, trailing off into a wordless grumble. He doesn’t... really know how to explain. He doesn’t _want_ to explain. Because he barely knows himself. He rolls over, flopping onto his stomach and lying his arms out uselessly at his sides. His knees bend, folding the bottom half of his legs up the mirror as he kicks at it lightly but enough to get his tantrum point across. His deep groan turns into a high pitched whine, hitting a variety of octaves to really drive home his frustration as he rolls his forehead back and forth over the floor.

He hears Pidge sigh, and Hunk make a consoling, wordless croon. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Aww, what’s the matter, buddy?” Hunk says, voice soft and concerned. Bless his soul, honestly. “I thought you guys were getting better? Like, you don’t really argue as often as you used to, and—“

“And you’ve been flirting a hell of a lot more.” Pidge cuts in.

“That, too.”

“I have not!” Lance snaps, voice a lot higher than he wanted but it’s too late to cover it up now. He lifts his head to glare at Pidge, hoping that makes up for it.

“Oh, not just you.” They say, waving him off. “Him, too.”

“ _Aaaarghh!_ ” He groans, putting his forehead back to the floor, half out of comfort for his neck, but mostly to cover the blood rushing to his face.

“Okay, okay, really, dude. What’s wrong?” Hunk’s hand is back, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

And that’s the big question, isn’t it? What _is_ wrong? Nothing’s _wrong_. Nothing feels _wrong_ when he’s with Keith. And that’s... kind of the problem. Everything is _great_ with Keith. Great enough that any prolonged solo exposure to each other tends to devolve into groping hands and messy make outs. Far more often than he’d like to admit. _Especially_ to Pidge and Hunk.

Mostly Pidge.

Because then Pidge will go on one of their _I knew it_ tirades, and knew _what_ exactly? He thinks Keith is cute? Yeah, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t have kissed the guy at the club... and at the arcade... and pretty much everywhere since then. But he _knows_ that if Pidge knew that, they’d assume it’s something more than it is.

And that’s... another big question, isn’t it? One that’s been nagging at the edges of his mind and eating away at his gut, but one that he’s been firmly ignoring for his own peace of mind.

What exactly _are_ they?

Friends who make out? Sounds about right. There’s where they are _now_ anyway. The _problem_ is that he’s not really sure... how... they got here? One kiss just led to another, led to more confidence in initiating it, led to hungry and rushed kisses when they were left alone for longer than five minutes. It feels good. He _likes_ it. Likes kissing Keith. It’s an experience that has him constantly coming back for more.

But they haven’t really... _talked_ about it. Not that they really _need_ to. They’re both on the same page with the whole _doesn’t have to mean_ anything. He’s _fine_ with that. Friends with benefits? Cool. It’s chill. The thought of being in something committed again has his chest feeling tight and the butterflies souring in his gut. He’s not really sure he’s ready for that. Not again. Not with his dance partner. Not with regionals _so close_.

Relationships are all well and good until they’re not. And when they’re not, it sucks. He doesn’t like when things go south. Leaves him feeling hollow and vulnerable. He falls too hard, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to build himself back up again. The risk just isn’t worth the reward. At least not right now.

It’s a risk he can’t afford.

Not when he gets to make out with Keith anyway.

This, however, has put him into a little bit of a dilemma. He’s cool with the no labels. And he’s chill with the casualty of the whole thing. And he doesn’t mind not talking about it because there’s nothing that really needs to be said. But _because_ they don’t really talk about it, no clear lines have been drawn. So Lance often finds himself wondering just how far he’s allowed to go.

It’s clear to him that they somehow ended up as friends with benefits. He’s just wondering just how far those benefits extend.

Not that he’s like... eager to just jump right into bed with Keith, but in the moment, it’s kinda hard to figure out exactly where and how far his hands can go, especially when his senses are kinda overloading with _Keith_ and his brain is kinda taking a backseat to his body.

So he’s not saying he wants to go jump Keith’s bones _right now_ , but it would kinda be nice to know that if they’re making out, is it chill or not to kinda go for some under the clothes groping action. And sure, he can kinda just sit back and enjoy the ride, see where the winds take him, ride the tides, live in the moment. And he _has_ been, for the most part. It’s just... something that’s been on his mind. That’s all.

He _really_ doesn’t want to fuck up whatever... _this_ is. Not their friendship. Not their partnership. And definitely not whatever hands on, label free road they’re taking now.

Unfortunately, all of that is only one of the big fat elephants that’ve been hanging out in the room of his brain space.

And it’s definitely not the problem that he’s about to discuss with Pidge and Hunk. Time to deflect to problem number two.

“Nothing’s... _wrong_ , exactly...” He sighs, propping himself up on his elbows and waving his hands around vaguely, like that might help him get a grasp on his thoughts. “Things have been good— _great_ even—“ Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. Like the feeling of Keith’s tongue down his throat and lips on his, like the feeling of the hard planes of his body pressed up against him and those calloused hands— “ _Fine_ ,” He coughs. “Things have been fine. We’re friends. It’s chill. We’re cool. Then we get in the practice room, and it just— just—“

“Goes to shit?” Pidge supplies helpfully.

He snaps his fingers, pointing at them. “Bingo. It’s just bad.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Bad?”

Lance nods. “Bad.”

“Um... explanation, maybe?”

“He’s just so— so— _uptight!_ He doesn’t listen to anything I say. Won’t take any of my suggestions. He sucks _all_ the fun out out of _everything_.” He hadn’t really registered himself moving, but as his voice amped up, he had pushed himself into a sitting position, legs crossed and arms waving for emphasis. “It’s a _dance_. It’s supposed to be _fun_ , but he’s all No-Nonsense McGee up there, acting like he’s the _only_ one taking this seriously, when I _am_ taking it seriously! This is a step toward my _future_! I’ve been waiting for this for months— _years!_ There’s two of us, and I _definitely_ didn’t elect him to be the boss, but he sure as hell is acting like it. And then I get mad, then he gets mad, then we both get mad, then suddenly things aren’t great anymore, we’re yelling, I’m getting kicked out or he’s storming out and nothing gets done and— and—“ He lets out a long, loud, frustrated groan, throwing his hands up in the air and slouching back against the mirror. His arms come to settle across his chest, chin pointed down and scowl on his face.

The silence that stretches between them is short lived, but feels like an eternity. A single moment that stretches and stretches, thick and heavy as his rant hangs ominously in the air. He hates it. Hates not knowing how his friends will react. Hates not knowing who’s side they’ll be on. Hates that he considers there to be sides at all.

“So...” Hunk says, drawing it out slowly, not so much shattering the silence as edging his way into it. “Were you kicked out or did he storm out?”

Lance looks away, unable to really make eye contact as he tries to hold his scowl. “Both? Neither? Does it really matter? Point is, we’re getting no where, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

And that’s the root of it, really. Over the past few months, he’s learned a lot of things about Keith. He knows how to read when his scowl isn’t serious. He’s learned all these weird little ticks in his body language, all these subtle changes in his expression that are so hard to explain but can just _read_ like they’re written across his face in fifty point font.

He’s learned Keith’s comfort food is chicken nuggets. He’s learned that he loves reading during thunderstorms. He’s learned he can’t really swim but can run for miles on autopilot. He’s learned he hates talking during movies but puts up with it when his friends do it. He’s learned he’s incredibly competitive and an adorable sore loser. He’s learned that he doesn’t laugh loudly often, but when he does, it comes bubbling up quick and sudden, like he’s not expecting it and doesn’t know how to contain it.

He’s learned Keith really likes to take the reigns when they kiss, but that he also falls apart like putty Lance’s hands. He’s learned Keith likes to bite and likes to have his hair pulled.

They’ve managed to figure each other out in small ways, fitting together like jagged little puzzle pieces, finding all the dips and rivets where they fit. Finding common ground. Finding out that they’re not really that different and they don’t annoy each other as much as he originally thought. They’ve figured out how to work together. They’ve figured out how friendship works between them. Hell, they’ve even figured out how to best mash their lips together.

But he can’t for the life of him figure out how to simply be _partners_. Not without the pressure of a time crunch weighing heavily on their shoulders.

He doesn’t know how to fix whatever _this_ is between them. They constantly butt heads, and it’s like every little step they’ve taken forward doesn’t count for shit. They’re back at square one. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, crossing his arms over them and burying his face where it can be safe and hidden. “I don’t know how to fix this...” He repeats, aiming for frustrated but voice sounding a lot smaller and more vulnerable than intended.

Hunk’s hand is back at his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into his upper back. He leans into the touch.

“This is what I was worried about when Shiro suggested this whole thing.” Pidge says with a sigh.

He lifts his head just enough to give them a look, eyes narrowed and one brow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks warily.

They sigh again, sitting in front of him with their legs crossed. They adjust their glasses, and it’s such a matter-of-fact gesture, Pidge’s whole posture factual and concise, that it oddly enough grounds him. “It _means_ that I know both of you. You’re both stubborn and pig-headed.” He opens his mouth to protest but they hold up a finger to silence him, pushing onward. “You both have your ways of doing things, and you’re both stuck in them because you think you know best. You’re both incredible dancers, but that won’t mean shit if you can’t work together.”

“I _know_ , but—“

“No but’s!” Pidge snaps, and Lance purses his lips tight, glaring but not arguing. “What’s been his biggest complaint?”

Lance thinks about that for a moment, rolls the memories of the past few weeks around in his head. There have been a lot of complaints, a lot of accusations and grumbled jabs, but it all kinda boils down to— “That I’m not taking it seriously.” He says, lip curling at the thought. He _is!_ He’s more serious about this than anything else!

“And are you?”

“Yes!”

Pidge silently raises one eyebrow, crossing their arms over their chest.

His brows furrow, lips pursing. “I am! It’s just not, like, _Keith_ serious. I don’t know how to be Keith serious! I’m not Keith! Serious looks different on me!”

“Have you learned his routine?”

“...Mostly?”

“Lance.”

“I’m trying!”

“I know you are.” They say, and again it’s not condescending, not pitying. It’s matter-of-fact. Like they’ve never questioned for a moment that Lance wasn’t trying. It’s enough to keep him calm. “But does _he_ know that?”

Lance opens his mouth to retort, but it snaps shut, brows furrowing. Keith has to know he’s at least _trying_... right? Has he ever given any indication that he wasn’t?

Pidge only gives him a brief moment to think before continuing. “Maybe the reason he doesn’t take your suggestions seriously is because he doesn’t think _you’re_ taking _him_ seriously.”

“But I am!”

“Then show him.”

He blinks. “How?”

Pidge shrugs then. “Learn the routine he’s been working on. Prove to him that you’re serious. Then show him your patented Lance McClain flair.”

“That’s... not a bad idea.”

Pidge smirks then, a small quirk at the corner of their lips as they gracefully push themselves to their feet, making a show of brushing off their pants. “It’s what I’d do.”

“Yeah, except we never fight like that.” Hunk says, pride brightening his features as he holds out a fist.

Pidge grins. “Nope.” Their fists meet, hands pulling back with flared fingers as they both make explosion sounds. There’s a few more movements added in there, but Lance has already stopped paying attention, staring at a spot across the room.

Prove to Keith that he’s serious, huh?

Yeah, he can do that.

 

* * *

 

Keith pulls into his usual spot fifteen minutes before their scheduled practice time. He’s early out of habit more than necessity, and he’s not exactly in any hurry to get inside.

To be honest, he’s not really sure why he’s here at all. They’ve got practice slots three times a week, but they’re not really getting anywhere. In fact, half the time it feels like they’re taking several steps _back_. Just full reverse to square one. He’s trying. He really is. He’s just not sure _Lance_ is trying.

It’s all so... confusing. Annoying? Frustrating, definitely. Outside the practice room, outside of Altea Studios altogether, they’re fine. More than fine, actually. They’ve found this really great balance where they’re friends, close friends, who occasionally... make out. A lot. And he’s cool with that. That’s not the part that annoys him.

The part that annoys him is how as soon as they step over the threshold of Altea Studios, it’s like everything that they’ve ever worked out between them just disappears. They get in that practice room, and before either of them even _say_ anything, the air is thick with apprehension and caution, like they’re both holding their breath to see who’s going to snap first.

He tries to work. He really does. He’s got a good idea of where he wants to take the choreography for this dance, and he’s been working diligently on it. This is his _element_. This is where he thrives. Constant practice. Focused. Precise. Figure out the moves. Drill it. Let it become muscle memory. Go until it’s perfect and he can let his body flow through it naturally. That’s how it’s always been.

Until Lance.

Lance doesn’t fit into his perfect practice routine. Lance’s jokes pull him out of his zone. Lance doesn’t take the moves _seriously_. Half the time he improvises new ones and suddenly they’re no longer in sync. Lance has a million ideas that are all over the place when they’re trying to focus on _one_ idea at a time. Lance moves his limbs with the grace and easy of flowing water, swinging his hips in a way that’s memorizing, and it’s _really fucking distracting_.

Someone always ends up yelling. Lance is goofing off, or Keith is too uptight. Neither of them is every willing to back down. One spark. That’s all it takes. A dry comment. An insult. A _look_. One snaps, then the other. By then, it’s too late. The tension is too high and tempers are flaring. They can’t get anything else done. They usually try, but it’s wasted energy. One of them usually ends up storming out of the room, and they can’t practice dancing _together_ if they’re not _together_.

Last time it was Lance’s fault, but it was Keith who snapped first. Keith had been trying to get them to practice a specific series of moves he was set on, but Lance kept messing up. On purpose. _Trying out different things_. _Getting a feel for it_. _Relax, dude, it’s fine_.

It wasn’t fine. It was annoying. Keith was annoyed. It didn’t matter if his own choreography was perfect if Lance didn’t sync up.

And it didn’t help that Lance had been _smiling_ that stupid _smile_ that made Keith’s insides all jittering and his knees weak and his fucking _palms_ sweaty. It was just a smile. A cocky, self assured twist of those smooth lips that he was actually getting to know pretty damn well.

A cocky smile, half lidded eyes, lips mouthing words, a sway of his hips, dip of his shoulders, and Keith had snapped.

And not the good kind of snapped that usually results in him pushing Lance against the closest hard surface and swallowing down those needy sounds he makes whenever Keith bites at his lips.

No. The kind of snap where he said something he doesn’t even really remember. Something harsh and unyielding. Which snapped Lance out of his good mood and had him snapping back. Then it was a verbal volley that ended with Lance storming out and Keith suddenly alone.

Yeah. Not the best practice session, but pretty much what was becoming their norm.

It’s pretty much a waste of his time. He could just skip practice altogether, send some kind of silent, passive aggressive message to Lance, and just stay home and watch Netflix. But he’s here. Like he’s always here. Half out of habit, and half because of some vain hope that something will finally click between them and it’ll be like it used to.

They did this before. They did it for auditions. Granted, that was more of just teaching Lance a dance he already had and less of actually coming up with one together, but it’s the same concept. It should be easy, but it’s not easy. Why is nothing ever easy with Lance?

He sighs as he cuts his bike’s engine, sitting back on the seat and pulling off his helmet, shaking out his hair. He sets it between his thighs, resting on the seat, as he gazes up at the building, wondering if it’s not too late to just leave.

Before he can make a decision one way or another, his phone is buzzing.

Unzipping his jacket, he reaches into the inner pocket to pull it out. Shiro’s face glares at him, whip cream smeared across his face from the time Matt actually managed to hit him with a pie from a spring loaded device he had planted in the fridge.

He swipes the call and puts his phone to his ear.

“What’d you want, Shiro?”

 _“To have enough money to quit my job and retire to Aruba, where I can live out the rest of my days being a beach bum and a sugar daddy for Allura, while also being a sugar uncle for all of my friends.”_ He says without the slightest bit of hesitation. _”Oh, and your sugar brother, I guess.”_

Keith’s lip curls. “Okay, first of all, gross. Never call yourself a sugar daddy again. Or a sugar uncle for that matter. Definitely not sugar brother.” He pauses to let Shiro chuckle as he nudges down the kickstand and climbs off his bike. “Second of all, you love your job. Don’t even _try_ to tell me otherwise.”

 _”I like my job_ sometimes,” He corrects. _“I like giving tours to kids, and setting up exhibits, and teaching genuinely curious patrons.”_

“Buuuut?” Keith prompts, putting his helmet away in the bike’s compartment and heading for the building.

_”But I hate dollar student days.”_

“Ah. That why you and Allura cancelled your practice session today?”

“ _It’s a nightmare. They needed all hands on deck. Every school in the district brought their kids here on a field trip. Every. School. I’ve got high schoolers either ignoring everything or trying to be cool and touching things they shouldn’t. I’ve got middle schoolers shoving each other everywhere and generally just being loud. And I’ve got kids running around between all of them. Not to mention the parents.”_

Keith nods knowingly. “Ah, yes, the chaperones.”

 _”I’m trying to educate their children, and they’re trying to tell me I’m_ wrong.”

Keith snorts, pushing through the backdoor and heading for the stairwell. He takes the stairs slowly, humming to indicate he’s listening as Shiro vents about soccer moms and frazzled teachers. It’s amusing, to say the least. It’s not often Shiro gets this worked up, but when he does, the outburst is hilarious. Turns out one of his ticks is self righteous parents who question his knowledge despite his masters degree in history.

“You’re hiding out back, aren’t you?” He says after Shiro takes a break in his rant.

 _”I’m on break, and it’s the only place I can be where it’s quiet._ ” Keith hums his understanding, and Shiro goes on. _”But that’s not what I called about.”_

“So you didn’t call to vent before you exploded all over some house mom named Linda over something she once read on the internet?” He asks, amused.

Shiro pauses. _”Well... that wasn’t the entire reason I called. I also called to make sure you’re going to your practice session with Lance today_.”

His amusement immediately sours.

“I’m at Atlea now.” He grumbles. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

 _”Keith...”_ He says slowly, reproachful.

“Shiro,” Keith returns, all warning.

_“You need to fix whatever is happening between you and Lance.”_

“I _know_ , okay? I know. It’s not that easy.”

“ _It never is with you two.”_ He sighs, and Keith’s irritation spikes. He knows Shiro is just trying to help, but he resents the fact that he feels like he needs to in the first place. He doesn’t _want_ anyone’s help. He wants to figure this out on his own.

He just... doesn’t know where to begin.

 _”Maybe you guys should try spending more one on one time together.”_ Shiro continues, and Keith sucks in a sharp breath, freezing at the top of the stairs and feeling his chest clench. Shiro, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice. “ _Outside of the studio, I mean. Maybe if you work on being friends first, the partnership will follow. Help you see eye to eye, you know?_ ”

“Shiro,” Keith says slowly, picking his words carefully. “I _really_ don’t think that’s the best idea.”

 _”Why not?”_ And he sounds so confused. So deep he is in ignorant bliss.

And what’s Keith supposed to tell him? That he and Lance spend _plenty_ of time outside the studio together? That every time their friends _do_ leave them alone, their one on one time ends up with lips locked and wandering hands, quick and needy and hot and heavy and—

“We’re fine outside the studio.” He says instead. “We don’t really argue or anything when we’re not practicing.”

 _“You don’t?”_ He sounds skeptical, but it’s the truth.

At least for the most part. They _do_ argue and pick at each other, but there’s no heat to it. Just playful challenges and friendly jabs.

Lately even those have become strained. The longer they attempt and fail to actually choreograph their regionals routine, the more that tension and frustration bleeds into their social interactions. But they don’t argue. It’s more of an awkward silent treatment and jabs with a little more bite to them.

Usually followed by make out sessions with a lot more bite to them.

“No, we don’t. We can hang out alone without strangling each other.” Unless you count shoving tongue down throats, then... well.

 _”So what’s so different about the practice room?”_ He sounds infinitely patient, and that just makes Keith’s irritation worse.

“I’ve already _told_ you—“ He stops as he steps out of the stairwell, pausing when his eyes automatically drift down the hall to room 4D only to find...

The door is already open? Not wide open. Just a crack. But there’s definitely music drifting down the hall, and that is definitely their song playing.

“Shiro, I gotta go.” He says quietly, distracted.

 _”Keith? Keith, we’re not done—“_ But he’s cut off as Keith absently ends the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

He creeps along the hall, steps slow and careful, making sure his shoes are quiet on the polished linoleum. Then the music ends abruptly, right in the middle of the chorus, and Keith freezes. He waits, breaths shallow, but then the song starts back up from the beginning.

What the hell?

He could just walk through the door and find out exactly what’s happening, but... something holds him back. Lance is never early to practice. If anything, he’s always late, sweeping through the door with a lazy grin. It seems ridiculous that he’d be practicing on his own, but...

Keith presses his back to the wall as he nears the door, creeping the rest of the way. He waits for the song to stop again, waits for the restart, and then reaches out, gently nudging the door open just a fraction wider. He crouches down low, leaning forward so he can see through the crack—

Lance is in the center of the room, and Keith has the perfect angle to see him in the mirror. The song starts up, opening notes driving forward, forward, froward. Lance bounces on the balls of his feet, arms shaking out, head tilted back toward the ceiling.

Then he’s in motion.

It starts with a dip, turning to his left with one knee bent and the right leg bending in toward the floor, one hand down and the other held out. He pulls up with short, jerky motions, legs coming together, hands moving up the torso. There’s only a brief pause before he speeds back up, hands and feet moving in rapid succession, turning him around to face the other direction.

It’s... it’s Keith’s choreography. Or at least the rough start that he’d been able to come up with. Lance’s movements aren’t perfect. Keith can see where he falls out of form, where the quick movements get lost and improvised, where he doesn’t end up facing the right way. But... he’s trying?

He’s trying, and he’s trying more than he ever has in practice.

He makes it all the way to the quick sequence before the chorus before he stumbles. His feet trip up, and he loses the momentum of his arms. He stops then, brows furrowing as he curses under his breath, stomping over to where his phone sits with a deep frown on his face.

But he doesn’t look _mad_ , exactly. He looks... concentrated. Determined. There’s a fire in him that Keith isn’t used to seeing. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lance dance like this. He’s always laid back and relaxed. Even when figuring out moves, even when he freestyles, he looks at ease. And lately, Keith has seen him angry and frustrated as he dances, has seen the jerky motions of someone with far too much sour and negative energy in their veins.

But he’s never seen Lance like _this_.

It reminds him of the look Lance gave him in the bookstore when he asked Keith to dance with him.

And just like then, Keith feels an odd churning in his gut, a fluttering in his chest.

He hates to admit it, but Lance looks good like this. Determination suits him. It takes the wind out of Keith’s sails, the ground out from under his feet. Makes him feel strange and unable to do anything but stare.

And Lance is determined to do _his_ choreography.

It makes him feel all kinds of ways, and he doesn’t really want to analyze any of them besides the urge to push Lance up against that mirror and make him breathless.

But then the music is starting up again, and Keith can only watch as Lance jogs back to the center of the room, light on his feet, shaking his limbs out. He looks at himself in the mirror, face still set. He breathes deep, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, and when he does, there’s a small smirk curling the corner of his lips.

It’s... wow.

He’s in motion again, and Keith’s daze sharpens as he watches the quick movements, watching where he improves and where he still fumbles. As he nears the chorus, Keith finds himself holding his breath, froze in anticipation as—

Lance stumbles again. He curses, running a hand through his hair, one hand on his hip as the chorus continues to play. He glares at himself in the mirror. He sighs. “Okay, okay, _no_.” He says, and Keith freezes, but Lance is pointing at himself. “You’ve _got_ this. It’s easy. You’re just overthinking it.” He nods, a smile forced back to his lips, confidence slowly oozing back. “You got this. Easy peasy.”

He starts the song over, and Keith finds himself scooting just a little further, pushing the door just a little wider to get a better view. Lance goes through it again, and if Keith hadn’t been so familiar with the choreography himself, he might not have seen the improvement. But it’s there, clear as day. The tiny, minuscule things that are sharper, more precise, the way his body turns at the right angle, the way it’s just a fraction more in time.

Keith’s fingers curl tight as the chorus nears.

Lance nails it. There are small things that are a little out of sync, but he pushes through it and nails it. About halfway through that quick succession, he _realizes_ he’s going to nail it, and his face lights up. A grin stretches his lips, eyes bright and crinkled, absolutely radiating pride and happiness—

And Keith’s breath hitches.

He reaches the end of the succession but doesn’t stop, even though that’s where Keith’s choreography ends. He goes on. He leaps into the air at the downbeat of the chorus, throwing his hands up into the air, lands with his legs apart and knees bent. His hands are at his thighs and then his head whips to the side, carrying his momentum.

It’s so easy and flawless, flowing easily from Keith’s practiced movement into something that’s so entirely _Lance_. He just wings his way through it, limbs flying and energy spiking high, his smirk growing more confident and that ease sliding comfortably back into his movements.

It’s just… _holy shit_.

It’s too much. _He’s_ too much. Cocky, confident, _infuriating_. Determined, adorable, _alluring_.

It starts out as warmth in his chest before spreading out like liquid fire in his veins. The warmth sinks lower, coiling in his gut.

Then Lance stops dancing, spins and _laughs_ , and it’s like fucking music to his ears. Runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up on end in a way that should be hilarious but just ends up being cute, before shooting himself finger guns in the mirror.

Keith’s breath hitches again, a low strangled whine escaping his throat before he can stop it.

He slaps his hand over his mouth, throwing himself away from the door until his back hits the wall.

“Hello?”

Oh, fuck. _Oh fuck, oh fuck._

“Uh, is someone there?” Footsteps on the dance room floor.

Panic wells up inside him, eyes darting down to the _situation_ he has growing between his legs. How the _fuck_ did that even happen? What is _wrong_ with him? Fuck Lance.

Oh, Jesus, _fuck Lance_.

Surprise and panic and shame has him pushing himself to his feet and sprinting as quickly as he can toward the stairwell, quiet and light on his toes. Once past the open doors, he presses his back to the wall out of sight. There’s a long silence that has his ears ringing, the sound of his own breathing and heart beat way too fucking loud. But then the moment passes and the music starts back up again from the beginning.

“Fuuuuuck,” Keith hisses, groaning as he runs a hand down his face.

He drops his gaze down, glaring at the semi he’s got going on, which is _far too obvious_ in the loose material of his track pants. Great. Just great. He’s not a stranger to popping a boner while he’s got his back to a wall and Lance’s lips on his neck, but he wasn’t doing anything besides _watching_ him.

He’s pathetic. Jesus fucking Christ. Lance is going to be the death of him.

He shuffles awkwardly down the stairs, peeking out onto the third floor to make sure the coast was clear before darting into the bathroom.

For the first time, he’s going to be late to practice.

 

* * *

 

“Lance, come on, get down from there!” Hunk says, brows pinched and weight shifting from foot to foot.

Keith glances up from his phone, following Hunk’s worried gaze with a raised brow. He’s perched, legs crossed, on the lip of the fountain decorating the center of the park square. Apparently, Lance has decided that the space cleared out on the cobble stone bricks isn’t enough of a stage, so he’s jumped up on the fountain itself as is currently dancing his way around it.

“Sorry, Hunk!” He calls, twirling around the far end and striking a pose, hips thrusted out and going up on his toes, weight falling back until his hands hit the concrete and his body’s in a bridge. He kicks his feet up, holding a handstand for a moment before his momentum brings him back down. He stands with all the grace of a gymnast.

It’s fluid. It’s in time with the music. It’s impressive. And the cocky smirk on his lips when he shoots them finger guns is magnetic.

Keith looks back down at his phone to hide his small smile.

“Can’t stop the beat!” Lance says, voice light with a laugh.

“Can’t the beat exist on the ground?”

“Nnnnnnope,” He draws out, and the way he accents it makes Keith feel like it probably has to do with whatever dance move he just pulled off, but he doesn’t look up to see. He knows that Lance is doing this for his attention, and Keith is determined not to give it to him. He’ll have to work harder than that. “I go where the beat takes me. And right now, the beat is telling me the groove is right here.”

He must do something showy and possibly dangerous, because Keith glances up in time to see Hunk’s face contort, a strangled sound escaping.

“If you’re going to be an idiot, you might as well go all the way.” Pidge cuts in, and Keith’s gaze slides to them. They’ve got their phone in hand, hooked up to the solo amp that they use when dancing at the park. Their lips quirk up into a small smirk as they change songs.

The new one starts up with little preamble. The beat is solid, the tempo quick and driving. They’ve been mostly dancing to Matt’s mixes, as they tend to do, and this one is so clearly meant for club activity. It vibrates through him, urging him to move. He doesn’t, of course, but Pidge does.

They step up to the fountain as Lance laughs, holding out a hand to them. “Now we’re talking!” He tugs them up onto the lip of the fountain and immediately twirls them out. “Now we’re talking, Pidgeon!”

Keith watches them out of the corner of his eye as they dance around the other side of the fountain, feet quick and steps getting dangerously close to the edge. They jump, duck down, spin, twirl, and Lance even flips Pidge over his back. They barely wobble in their balance, despite getting both dangerously close to either eating water or eating cobblestone.

The entire time, they both have wide grins splitting their lips, laughs escaping. People are watching, as they always are, with the occasional cheer or clap when they do a particularly impressive move.

Keith is amused.

Hunk is not.

“Ooooh, god. You’re going to break your leg. Or Pidge’s leg. Someone’s gonna break something, and I’m gonna have to drive you to the hospital. You _know_ I don’t drive well under pressure! And I hate hospitals. Oh god, what if you need stitches? I can’t handle stitches. Keith, tell them that I can’t handle stitches!”

He glances up at Hunk, realizes that he’s very serious, and sighs, turning to shout over his shoulder. “Lance, get down before you give Hunk a heart attack.”

His shoulders sag, back slumping and head tossed back with far too much dramatic flair. “ _Fiiiiine._ ”

He catches Keith’s eye, though, and straightens slowly, that smirk curling back into place. Keith watches, lips pursed and brow furrowed, refusing to give in as Lance saunters over to him, hips swaying far too much. He stops next to him, and turns to face the fountain.

He pulls his sunglasses off his head and hands them to Keith. “Hold onto these, would ya?”

Keith takes them, quirking a questioning brow. But Lance just grins.

“Laaaance,” Hunk’s tone is reproachful. “Please don’t do what I think you’re about to—“

But his eyes are still on Keith, grin turning mischievous as he winks.

And then he does a back flip off the fountain.

Hunk lets out a strangled yelp, the crowd gasps, and Keith’s heart stutters in his chest.

But Lance sticks the landing, flawless and sturdy, without so much as a wobble or a stumble. He straightens, grinning, hands on his hips. It earns him a few claps from spectators, and he turns to them, falling into deep, sweeping bows.

Pidge snorts, taking a seat on the fountain lip beside Keith and muttering, “Show off.”

With both Lance and Pidge safely on the ground, Hunk sighs, settling himself on Keith’s other side.

Lance straightens, waves to departing spectators as the crowd begins to disperse, and moonwalks backwards until he’s right in front of Keith, reaching out to plunk his sunglasses out of his hands. He slides them easily back onto his face, winking before pushing them up his nose.

Keith rolls his eyes, but he can feel the barest of smiles curving his lips.

Lance backs up slowly, playful grin on his face as he makes motions with his hands. It takes Keith far too long to realize he’s miming a lasso, twirling the invisible rope above his head before casting it forward, holding it like he’s caught him.

Keith’s smile falls as he gives Lance a flat look. “Not gonna happen.”

Lance gives some experimental tugs on the invisible rope, jerking a little when there’s resistance. “Come oooon, Keith! You always come out with us but you never dance.” His grin falls into a little frown, bordering on a pout.

It’s not going to work. Keith remained fixed in place, his own frown deepening. “I don’t know this song.” He tries.

Lance cocks an eyebrow. “So? That doesn’t matter! You’re a dancer, so _dance_.” Keith still doesn’t budge, and Lance gives up on the lasso routine. Instead he cocks his hip to the side, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you saying if I put on a song that you know, right now, that you’d dance?”

He looks away, unable to hold his gaze as his lips purse tighter. “No...”

“ _Keeeeith,_ ” He whines, stepping forward and reaching out to take hold of his wrists. “Come _oooon_.”

He’s surprised at Lance’s strength as he tugs at him, but he leans back, countering the pull with his own weight. “Lance—“ Suddenly Pidge is plucking his phone out of his hand. He scowls at them. “Pidge—“ Then Hunk is putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him forward. He gasps, stumbling off the lip of the fountain. “Hunk!”

But Lance is already taking advantage of his forward momentum to tug him further into the open space, sliding his hold from his wrists to his hands. Heat crawls up the back of his neck as Lance intertwines their fingers, grinning brightly.

“Come on, dude, loosen up.” He says, voice low and teasing. Keith does no such thing. He plants his feet and holds his body rigid. It doesn’t deter Lance in the slightest. He dances from side to side, still holding Keith’s hands in his and jiggling his arms this way and that.

“Lance,” He tries again. He had meant for it to be a stern warning, but it comes out a lot more pitiful. When he looks up at Lance’s face, he’s met with his own reflection in Lance’s sunglasses, lip pouting and brows furrowed. Great.

Lance’s movements slow down a little. His hips still move with the beat, weight swaying from foot to foot as he takes a few steps forward, then back. He tilts his chin downward, glasses sliding a fraction down his nose to reveal his eyes. They’re not teasing or malicious when they look over Keith’s face. They’re curious and thoughtful.

“I’ve seen you dance thousands of times,” He says softly, keeping it just between them, making it more personable. He slips a hand out of Keith’s and wraps his arm around his waist, pulling him in close and splaying his fingers out along Keith’s lower back. Keith hand hovers awkwardly in the air before resting stiff on his arm. Lance’s lips quirk into a small, amused smile. “Don’t you dare try to tell me you can’t dance.”

He spins them then, moving them around the space they’ve claimed as their own. It’s not really a style of dance that fits this music, but that doesn’t stop him from moving with the beat. Keith moves with him because he has to. Lance is a stubborn lead. But he remains stiff and unrelenting.

“I can _dance_ ,” Keith says dryly. “This is just...” His eyes trail away from Lance. They don’t really have an audience anymore, but there are still wandering eyes on them as people pass. He feels exposed. Vulnerable. It locks up his joints and stiffens his limbs. “Different...” He settles on, pursing his lips tight and keeping his eyes down, focusing firmly on Lance’s shirt.

“Hey...” Lance’s voice is soft and kind and has this magnetic effect that his eyes drifting upward again. He’s still looking over the top of his sunglasses, which makes him look ridiculous, but his smile is small and warm and makes his stomach do these annoying flips. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Pidge’s voice cuts him off.

“Lance, I think he’s had enough punishment for once day.” They say, almost dismissively.

Lance rolls his eyes, finally letting go and stepping back, holding his hands up in defeat. “Fiiiine,” He points at Keith before he can turn away. “Don’t think this is over.”

Keith rolls his eyes, turning back to the fountain and biting back a smile as he deadpans, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He takes up his seat again, and Pidge idly passes him back his phone. “You really should consider loosening up a little bit. Free styling would be good for you.”

Lance bows in front of Hunk with a big and sweeping gesture. “Good sir, may I have this dance?”

Hunk straightens, putting one hand to his chin and holding his other out to put into Lance’s as he flutters his lashes. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” He says in his best impersonation of a southern belle. I has Keith exhaling a sharp laugh and Pidge snorting as Lance tugs him up and they sweep off into a mockery of some ballroom dance while club music plays.

“Why?” He says, tearing his gaze away from the two to slide a look to Pidge, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the point? My dancing is fine.”

They shrug, tucking their feet up under them as they scroll through their phone. “It helps to be able to wing it. Helps stage fright, you know? Keeps you from locking up if you fuck up.”

Good point. But that doesn’t mean he’s about to get in front of a crowd and embarrass himself. He crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s why I don’t fuck up.”

Pidge exhales a short, sharp laugh. “Seriously, though. It’s actually pretty fun once you loosen up.”

“I am loose.”

“Could be looser.”

“Loosey, goosey, Keith!” Lance calls, and when he looks up, him and Hunk are standing next to each other, hand in hand, free hands extended. Lance starts, rolling a wave down his extended arm, over his shoulders, and down his other arm into Hunk, who lets it roll out to his free hand before rolling it back. “Loosey, goosey!”

Lance’s smile shines in the sun.

Keith looks away before he’s blinded, idly fiddling with his phone in his lap.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start...” He mumbles, brow furrowing.

“Oh! Oh! I can teach you!” Keith lifts his gaze to glare at Lance, who puts up his hands defensively as he and Hunk walk back over to them. “No, really! Who’d you think taught these two nerds how to cut loose?”

Keith looks to Hunk, who just shrugs, sheepish smile on his face. “He’s actually a pretty good teacher.”

His frown deepens. “What’s the point, though? Regionals is coming up, and we need to keep practicing for that.”

“Keeeith,” Lance groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you such a stick in the mud?”

“It’s what he’s best at.” Pidge says, and Keith shoves them.

“What about the Balmeran Dance-Off?” Hunk says.

Lance gasps loudly, throwing an arm around Hunk’s shoulders and pulling him in close. “Hunk, you’re a genius!”

His smile is bashful as he scratches his cheek. “I was just... Shay mentioned that they’re going to start hosting the dance offs again now that she’s back from studying abroad, and Keith has never been to one with us, and I just thought...” He trails off, looking to his friends for encouragement.

Pidge nods, finally looking up from their phone, a smile slowly curving their lips. “That’s... not a bad idea. When is it?”

“In a couple weeks?”

“Two weeks to whip our favorite stick in the mud here into shape?” Lance waves his free hand at him, rolling his eyes. “Easy.”

Pidge is full out grinning now, and Keith can practically feel them vibrating beside him. “It’ll be the return of Voltron!”

He frowns at them. “The return of what?”

“You’ll see, but if you roll with us, you gotta dance with us. So you either let Lance teach you how to wing it, or you’re not coming.”

“So what’d you say, mullet?” His attention is drawn back to Lance, half draped over Hunk’s shoulder, practically buzzing with the same energy that’s ricocheting between them.

He wants to say no. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. He doesn’t like free styling. And he definitely doesn’t like dance-offs.

But when he meets those gorgeous blue eyes, glinting with excitement over the rim of his sunglasses, Keith finds himself opening his mouth and saying, “Fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a cloudy day when Hunk drops him off in front of Arus Books. Hiking his bag up onto his shoulder, he thanks him for the ride and sees him off with a fist bump before tugging his jacket up against the brisk wind. It whips across the parking lot, smelling like the crisp promise of rain. He only hopes it’ll wait until they’re at the studio.

Inside, he’s greeted with a wave of warmth and the scent of coffee and freshly pressed books. It’s comforting, cozy, and quickly becoming a combination he’s very familiar with.

He pauses for only a moment, taking in that first obligatory hit to his senses, before striding along the main path to the coffee shop at the center of the store. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes, eyes darting around the store for that familiar mop of hair. He’s not at the registers, which means he’s either stocking or in the back. Lance hopes he’s stocking. It’s more fun that way.

There’s no line at the cafe, so he’s able to strut right up and scan over the menu board while he waits to be noticed. He gives the girl working a bright grin, orders an iced caramel latte with extra sugar, and leans against the counter to wait.

It occurs to him as his eyes idly scan the bookstore, that the barista had been cute. Pretty smile, honey eyes, thick curls. A few months ago, he would have been all over that, would’ve laid it on thick, would’ve killed to get a number scribbled across his cup.

Now it just passes by as a fleeting thought, lightened by amusement and an odd contentment that settled into his chest as he thought of dark navy eyes and shy smiles hidden beneath a heavy dark fringe.

When his name is called, he takes his cup with a grateful smile and turns to the store. Right. Time for a mullet hunt.

His search is somewhat systematic as he strolls along the aisles, keeping an eye out for those telltale moss green shirts. He doesn’t find him in the bargain books, and he’s not in the young adult section. He’s not in the travel section, nor is he in the nonfiction area. He even peeks into the sectioned off kid’s section hopefully, but sees no sign of Keith. Dammit. The image of some kids tugging on his shirt as he’s trying to stock is too priceless.

Or even better, Keith pointing books out to kids with that soft easy smile he reserves for when he’s being sincere and relaxed.

Or Keith reading to them in the little corner with cushions laid out over the floor.

.... Yeah, okay, that does unfair things to his heart. Time to stop thinking about that.

He skims past the manga section, peeking into the CD room but finding no evidence of him. He’s about to give up and just text him when he catches sight of a dull green shirt out of the corner of his eye. He freezes, momentum catching with his leg extended before he’s backtracking, peeking back around the corner, and — Yup, that’s him.

He’s in the romance section, cart of books next to him as he stands in front of a shelf. He’s got one earbud in, and his head idly bobs to the music, lips relaxed and moving as he mouths the words. His fingers idly push and pull at the spines of books, organizing them and making them all level. He must get to a dramatic point in whatever he’s listening to, because he sharply bends his head to the side, pause in his lip movements before he’s picking the lyrics back up.

It’s cute. Far, far too cute.

Lance leans against the shelf on the far end of the aisle, one arm crossed lazily over his chest and the other holding up his drink so he can idly sip at it while he watches Keith.

He can’t have been standing there for more than thirty seconds before Keith turns to take a step down the aisle and sees him. He jumps and does a double take all at once, stiffening before putting a hand to his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He hisses.

Lance grins around his straw. “Nope, just me.”

Keith’s eyes narrow, lips pursing into a small frown as his shoulders hunch a little. If he looks really hard, he thinks he might be able to see a blush. “How long were you standing there?”

Lance’s grin stays fixed firmly in place as he gives a vague shrug.

Keith’s frown deepens, but in that small way where his bottom lip pushes out just a little. A pout more than anything, really. He blinks then, straightening a little and glancing around the store. “Weren’t we going to meet up at the studio? What time is—“ He starts to reach into his pocket for his phone, confusion clear on his face, but Lance waves him off.

“Nah, dude, you’ve still got like an hour on your shift.” He shoves his hand into his pocket and walks a few steps closer so they can converse like normal people.

Keith glances up at him warily. Is he ever _not_ suspicious? Can’t he just be happily surprised for once? “Then why are you here?”

Lance shrugs. “I had nothing better to do, so I thought I’d bother you.”

His lips twitch, like he’s trying to hide a smile as he deadpans, “So like always.”

Lance’s grin brightens. “Like always.”

He follows Keith around while he finishes stocking, snickering at the startled looks and side eyes they get from teenagers and middle aged moms attempting to browse through the romance section.

“Why do all the dudes on these books look the same?” Lance says, nodding to the book in Keith’s hand.

He looks down at it, like he’s just now realizing it’s there, and takes a moment to stare at the cover. It’s vague, like the rest of them. Some bare chested guy with overlays of fire and another of wolf eyes. Finally, he shrugs, shoving it onto the shelf. “I guess that’s what women find attractive.”

Lance rolls his eyes, glaring at another book cover that looks far too similar to the last one but by a completely different author. “They’ve got muscles where I’m pretty sure muscles aren’t supposed to be. Do you think they’re photoshopped?”

“Probably.”

“That’s so unrealistic.”

He shrugs again, standing from his previously crouched position and stretching his arms high above his head. “It’s supposed to be a fantasy, I guess.”

“What about you?”

Keith’s arms fall back down, hands landing on the cart’s push rail. His lips purse into a small frown as one brow arches. “What?”

Lance nods back to the books. “Is that what _you_ find attractive?”

Keith blinks, confusion clearing and turning to surprise before he snorts, a short breathy laugh as he shakes his head. “Yeah, no. Not my type.”

“What _is_ your type, then?” Lance prods, a teasing edge to his voice as he waggles his eyebrows. It’s casual. It’s cool. He’s just poking fun at the fact that they’re kind of make out buddies, and it totally doesn’t matter if he’s actually not Keith’s type. Nope, wouldn’t matter at all. His heart is totally not slamming against his ribcage right now. Geez, is it hot in here? Definitely not, cause he’s _chill_.

Keith eyes him then, gaze flickering down to where Lance has his straw pulled out of his cup and is licking whipped cream off of it. He freezes, and Keith’s eyes flicker back up. His face is relaxed, lips quirked into an amused little smirk as he hums, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He pushes the cart past him as Lance gracefully tries, and fails, not to choke. “Keith!” He says when he can finally breathe. He whips around to see Keith rounding the corner of the aisle. “Keith, come back! We were having a conversation!”

He starts after him, but stops mid-step as Keith backs back into view. That infuriatingly small smirk is still in place. “I have to clean up in the back before my shift ends. Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Then he’s out of sight again, and Lance is reeling. _”Try not to get into trouble while I’m gone,”_ He mocks, even though Keith’s already gone. “I’m not a _child_ , _Keith_.”

He swears he hears a faint chuckle, and his lips quirk into a small smile despite himself.

When Keith finds him again, he’s claimed a table for himself at the cafe and is currently _crushing_ his high score in Flappy Bird. He’s hunched over the table, arms outstretched and bent over his cup. It’s empty now, but he idly chews on the straw out of habit, eyes on his screen.

“Ready to go?” Keith says, and Lance jumps, letting out a small yelp and totally not fumbling with his phone. The bird hits the ground, and he glares over his shoulder Keith, a small pout on his lips. Keith eyes his screen, one eyebrow raised. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, standing up and shoving his phone back into his pocket. Keith is there, wearing a leather jacket over his work polo, with a bag over his shoulder and a helmet under his arm. “What? It’s a classic.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk on his lips as he turns away. “Sure.” He walks away without another word, and Lance grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulders before hurrying after him.

The wind has picked up outside, ominous and crisp. It hasn’t started raining yet, but the thick gray clouds rolling above are threat enough. When they reach Keith’s bike, Lance hangs back, taking a moment to simply admire it. Mostly black with cherry red accents, it’s a thing of beauty. He’s seen Keith on it plenty of times, straddling the leather and metal like he was born to, looking like every bad boy wet dream he’s ever had. Rolling up to the dance studio, or the park, or Pidge and Hunk’s apartment. Leaving Lance a little hot under the collar and weak at the knees.

He’s never experienced such a strange and strong mix of jealousy and desire, but fuck if he didn’t feel it every time.

And now he’s going to get to ride on it _with_ Keith.

Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s going to die.

Keith goes straight to his bike, completely oblivious to his internal struggles. He pops the seat and reaches into the compartment. Lance jumps as he turns and tosses a helmet at him, nearly dropping it. Keith just smirks before turning back and tossing his bag inside before closing it up.

Lance slips the helmet on and bounds forward, throwing his leg over the bike before Keith can get a chance. He startles for a moment, then just watches, one eyebrow raised. Lance ignores him, soaking up the moment as he wiggles back and forth to get a feel of the bike between his legs, reaches out and grabs the handles.

“This is so cool.” He says, a little breathless as it takes it all in. If his mama could see him now, she’d probably kill him. But right now, Lance is _living_.

“You sure you didn’t come by early just to get a ride?” Keith asks, and when Lance glances at him, his lips are quirked up into a small, amused smile.

Lance lets go of the handles and leans back. “Whaaaat? Me? _Nooooo...._ ” But he can’t stop the grin from crawling across his face. “Maybe.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but his smirk widens as he lightly shoves at his shoulder. “Move over.”

Lance scoots back as Keith slides on his own helmet before straddling the bike in front of him. It roars to life, vibrating beneath him and suddenly feeling a lot more powerful. He shudders at the sensation, scooting forward until he’s pressed up against Keith’s back, thighs flush against his and caging him in. He wraps his arms loosely around Keith’s waist and wiggles a little in his seat in a show of settling in, enjoying how he can _feel_ Keith chuckle.

He backs out of the spot and maneuvers toward the exit of the parking lot. He pauses at the stop sign, turning his head and catching Lance’s eye through their visors. “Hold on tight. I drive fast.” He says, voice muffled but loud enough to be heard.

Lance scoffs. “I am holding on tight— _ooOOHmygodKeith!_ ” His shout dissolves into laughter as he clutches at Keith’s middle, wind whipping at his jacket. He can feel Keith laugh against him.

 

* * *

 

The door is cracked when Keith returns from the bathroom, changed out of his stiff work clothes and into something far more comfortable and fit to dance in. Music is filtering out into the hallway, oddly soft compared to the volume Lance usually listens to his music. Keith doesn’t recognize it, but it sounds like a remix, soft and soothing lyrics, sharp but soft beat that coils in his limbs and urges his body to move. It reminds him of something Pidge would listen to, a shade too chill for what he’d expect from Lance.

He reaches up behind him, gathering his hair as best he can and blindly groping along his wrist for his hair tie as he pushes the door open with his hip. He turns as he steps through the doorway, eyes lifting from the floor, and—

He freezes.

Lance is standing across the room, one arm lifted and bent behind his head while his other hand holds it in place. The stretch makes the planes of his back long, lean shape hinted beneath the the fabric of his shirt. Keith’s gaze wracks down his body, from those long limbs to broad shoulders, leading down to slim hips. The hem of his shirt has lifted, exposing his lower back, and Keith’s attention zero’s in on the little dimples there.

He wants to touch them, run his tongue over them—

Lance’s hips are doing these little pops to the beat of the music, barely there but controlled and sharp. Two pops to one side, then the other. It’s such a small movement, but his whole body drifts with it, head bobbing and shoulders shifting in the opposite direction from his hips.

Keith’s mouth feels dry. Jesus fucking Christ, when did Lance start affecting him like this? He’s seen him dance hundreds of times, and it’s never left him weak at the knees, barely able to function and unable to tear his eyes away. But everything is escalating quickly, rising like a fire, out of control and wild. He’s not sure he can stop it, even if he wanted to.

And as incredibly _insane_ it is that his body has this physical a reaction to Lance, and as _terrifying_ as it is that he feels this out of control, the simple fact remains that it feels _good_. The stolen moments, fervent touches, hungry kisses. They feel _good_. He _likes_ it. He likes all of it. And nothing’s really changed in their friendship, nothing’s become a problem or an issue, so he really doesn’t see any point in stopping it.

They’re both adults. They can both indulge in the physical aspect of a relationship if it feels good and they both enjoy it, right? No strings attached. Easy. Clean. Strings are messy. Strings get tangled. He’s never really had strings, and if that’s not what Lance wants, he’s not going to push it. He doesn’t need strings to enjoy Lance’s mouth on his and the touch of those long, slender fingers. The press of that lean torso against his, and the wrap of those long legs around his hips.

If he can get all of that, have a taste whenever he craves it, be happy with it and not have their friendship change, then there’s no real point in pushing Lance for more, right?

Pushing for more can end up pushing Lance out of his comfort zone, and pushing him out of his comfort zone could end up pushing him away.

Pushing him away means no more stolen kisses, no more sly looks and eager tugs into hidden corners, no more hurried and desperate touches.

Pushing him away means no more easy friendship, casual touches, lazy smiles, the playful back and forth.

Pushing him away means no more partnership, no more of that synergy they’d worked so hard to build up, no more of that trust they’d spent so long creating.

Pushing him away is the last thing Keith wants, so he’s fine with where they are.

Unfortunately, where they are is leaving him hungry for more.

It had escalated quickly. Last week, specifically. He had been _fine_ with what they were doing. Just... making out on occasion. Probably more frequently than they needed to, but that was fine. Making out, sloppy kisses, exploring mouths, wandering hands. Nothing more, but that was _fine_.

Everything was fine... until it wasn’t enough.

Seeing Lance practicing his choreography, seeing him take it upon himself to actually practice and learn what Keith was trying to teach him, seeing him effortlessly reproduce Keith’s style before weaving in his own movements, seeing that scowl of determination followed by the confident grin when he had nailed it.... Keith’s body knew what he wanted far before his mind had caught up.

That had been their most productive practice session to date. He’d walked into the room like he was surprised to find Lance already there and without letting him know that he had been watching him like a creep. Lance had brightened immediately, eager to show him what he’d done, that he’d learned the dance and connected the dots where Keith had been struggling with transitions. They had practiced over and over again until their rocky synergy was at full swing, bodies and limbs aligning, sending adrenaline and an excited high pulsing through his veins.

And then Lance had choreographed the chorus. _That_ was an experience. He didn’t plan things out in his head first and go through it slowly like Keith did. He rolled with it at full speed, again and again, trying things until something _clicked_ and _fit_. Keith let him. He’d put up with Keith’s way of doing things, so the least Keith could do was try for him.

It was a mess. Half the time Lance didn’t even remember what he’d done to begin with. His energy was high, excitement making him babble and concentration all over the place. Luckily, Keith has always been a fast learner. He was able to watch Lance’s moves and imitate them. Together they mapped it out.

Turns out they really do make a good team.

Afterwards, however, without the drive to dance and without the concentration on their routine there to keep him grounded, his mind kept wandering back to Lance, body remembering _exactly_ what it had felt before their practice session, eyes watching Lance as hunger coiled low in his gut.

Had they left immediately with Pidge and Hunk, as they had planned to, Keith might have been able to fight off the feeling, let it dissipate and dealt with his newfound need that night on his own.

But Pidge and Hunk had asked for an extra thirty minutes to finish up a key part in their routine, and Keith couldn’t reign in his impulses.

He’d crossed three lines that day.

He had dragged Lance off to the stairwell, where he knew there were no cameras, and pushed him against the wall. His lips were on Lance’s only a moment later, cutting off his startled yelp. Lance had been stiff, body frozen and fingers digging into Keith’s arms. There had always been an unspoken rule that the studio was a sacred place. A place to dance. Their new found habits were a distraction, and that wasn’t something they needed while preparing for regionals.

But when Keith pressed Lance to the wall, it had only taken him approximately two seconds before relaxing against him, mouth opening in obvious invitation, eyes falling shut and softly groaning as his arms wrapped around Keith’s shoulders.

That had been the first line they crossed, and while Keith had initiated it, they had crossed together.

Once that barrier had been torn down, Lance was just as eager as Keith, feeding off his desperation as he gave as good as he got, hands sliding under Keith’s shirt and dragging his nails down his back.

That was when Keith had crossed the second line, alone this time.

They’d always had a silent agreement not to leave marks, anything that could been seen later as evidence was avoided. That, however, didn’t stop Keith from mouthing his way down Lance’s neck and sinking his teeth into the meat of his shoulder. He might have stopped there, had it not been for the way Lance’s body arched into him, head thrown back in a gasp as his nails dug in deeper. So he continued, sucking mark after mark into that deliciously dark skin, tasting of salt and smelling of _Lance_.

The third line was crossed accidentally, and it had been entirely Lance’s fault.

With his head tilted to the side to give Keith room, his hands had slid down Keith’s back, fingers digging into his ass and squeezing, pulling their hips flush. It had moved quickly from there. Hips grinding, Keith’s thigh sliding between Lance’s, pushing up into him as they rutted against each other against the wall. Sloppy and uncoordinated like a couple of teenagers, but far too gone to care because it felt _good_.

Then Lance had stopped them. It had been abrupt. He had tensed and bit off a low groan, before shoving Keith away a moment later. He had stumbled away, surprised and shocked, jarred out of the distant mindset of blurred pleasure that he had been in. It left him reeling, dazed, and confused. He’d barely managed to catch sight of Lance’s panicked expression before he shoved past him, practically running into the hallway and leaving Keith alone in the stairwell, heart rate high, lips wet and swollen, and with the worst case of blue balls he’d experienced to date.

Lance found him later, leaning up against the wall outside Pidge and Hunk’s room, arms crossed over his chest and scowl on his face. It wasn’t until Lance sidled up next to him, shoulder’s hunched, movements hesitant, smile sheepish, cheeks stained red, that Keith realized what had happened.

And after that... well, he couldn’t really stay mad when he was too busy experiencing a self satisfied and smug high.

That was a week ago.

They haven’t done anything since, and it’s not for lack of want. He’s caught Lance’s eye a couple times, conveyed as best he can with subtle expression and will alone, but they haven’t been able to get away. It seems like their friends have just always been there, or they’re always busy, or they’re in a place where they can’t slip away without arousing suspicion.

And neither of them have stepped up to cross that fourth line of specifically arranging a time and place to meet up alone, because that would be crossing dangerously into booty call territory, which would squarely put them into full on friends-with-benefits territory, and that’s a line neither of them have crossed yet.

Despite how much they’ve been toeing at it.

There’s movement in the mirror, and Keith’s gaze flickers to it in time to lock with Lance’s. He grins, warm and welcoming and at ease, and Keith has to look away. Heart in his throat, mouth dry, he shifts back into motion, feeling an awkward stiffness in his limbs as he lets his hands drop, ponytail forgotten, and shuffles further into the room.

He tosses his bag aside, sliding it across the room until it hits the mirror with perhaps a little too much force.

“Geez, lighten up, dude. It’s a dance lesson, not a funeral.” Lance says, all good natured amusement as his arms drop to cross over his chest.

Right. Dance lesson. That’s why he’s here. Great, just.... great. Why did he agree to this again?

Keith meets his eyes again, giving him a flat look as he deadpans, “Pidge texted me and said they’re going to pull up to the video feed for this and save it to laugh at me later.”

Lance blinks, smile falling as he turns to glance up at the camera sitting innocently in the corner of the ceiling. When he looks back to Keith, there’s a small smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “Then let’s give them a show, shall we?”

He whips around suddenly, pointing to the camera as his knees bend, rotating his hips in a way that’s far too exaggerated to be anything _close_ to sexy and far more into the realm of ridiculous. He puts his hands behind his head, grinding his hips before turning around and putting his hand on his knees, popping his ass. He hops back in short jumps, ass toward the camera. The whole time he holds a ridiculous duck face and smoldering eyes that are far too comical.

Keith crosses one arm over his chest, covering his mouth with his free hand to hide his smirk. He can’t, however, completely choke back the laughter that bubbles up his throat. It comes out in a loud chuckle, slipping through his fingers.

“You’re terrible.” He says, but there’s nothing but amused fondness in his voice.

Lance straightens, shenanigans abandoned as he grins. He takes a few steps toward him, arms held out. “Now that you don’t look like you’re about to murder someone, ready to get started?”

He feels his smile immediately drop, hand falling to cross over his chest. He sighs, brows pinching. “I guess...”

Lance’s grin falls into something smaller, voice softer. “Come on. It’s easy.”

“Yeah, for _you_.”

“For you, too! You just gotta loosen up. I know that stick has made it’s home in your ass, but it’s time to pull it out.” Keith isn’t convinced, and he must not look it either, because Lance is then rolling his eyes before stepping forward, shooing Keith away from the middle of the room. “Just— stand over there. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Keith does as he’s told, leaning back against the mirror with his arms crossed over his chest. Lance has the small blue tooth remote in his hand, and he points it at where his phone is waiting on the table. The song shifts, _Shape of You_ starts playing, and Lance is moving.

His body pops with the beat, little movements in his hips, shoulders, and limbs. He moves into the center of the room with slow paces. The beat doesn’t really pick up, but Lance’s moves get a little more complicated, a little more involved. Keith can barely see a pattern to them, but they fit together seamlessly, fitting the vibe of the song perfectly.

“It’s all about trusting your body to do what it needs to do,” Lance is saying, “You _know_ how to dance. I know you do. You know all sorts of dance styles. You just gotta _feel_ the music and just kinda... let your body fit everything together. Go with the flow, you know?”

He knows _theoretically_ , but putting it to practice has always been a hassle. Made him uncomfortable. To the point where he just avoided it altogether.

“What if I don’t know the song?” He asks.

Lance is doing little shoulder movements as he shimmies in a circle, but he still manages to shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

Keith’s frown deepens. “How the fuck can it not matter?”

Lance sends him a small, amused smile over his shoulder. “You’ve listened to plenty of music, Keith. All music follows the same patterns. You can pretty much always count on it having the same beat. Doesn’t matter if you know all the lyrics or not. You can still move to it.”

He holds out the remote, and the song abruptly changes. Keith recognizes the beginning notes. They’re pretty distinguishable. _Toxic_ is pretty different from _Shape of You_ , but Lance moves effortlessly into a new dance. The foundations are the same, but there’s a different edge, more body rolls, a different beat, a different _vibe_ that fits this song better.

“How the fuck do you do that?” He asks, more to himself than anything, but that doesn’t stop Lance from flashing a grin.

“It’s easy once you get into it.”

“Somehow I doubt that...” He mutters, scowling as Lance changes the song mid hip roll.

Keith watches for a few more songs. Lance doesn’t spend more than many twenty seconds on each of them, showing off how quickly he slips from one song to the next with barely a break in his movements, how easy it looks to just switch up styles and adjust to new beats. It’s such a strange mix of music, jumping around from pop to hip hop to rap to rock, spanning across several decades of popular music.

He changes the song and holds out a hand to Keith. “Your turn,” He says, an easy smile on his face as a trumpet plays a few notes.

Keith just stares at his hand, lips pursed into a small frown. He can’t quite get his body to move. It can’t be that bad, right? He can do this. It’s just dancing. Just... mindless dancing. He can do that. Just... reach out and take his hand. Just do it. He can—

“ _When I need motivation,”_ Keith’s eyes snap up to Lance’s, which are half lidded and sparkling with his smile as he sings, body doing these little pop steps as he moves toward Keith. _”My one solution is my queen, cause she stay strong, yeah, yeah.”_

He takes Keith by the wrist, and Keith’s arms unfold, feet moving of their own accord as Lance pulls him out into the room. _”She is always in my corner, right there when I want her,”_ He never stops moving, hips and shoulders tilting back and forth with each step, feet never staying still even when they stop in the center of the room. _”All these other girls are tempting, but I’m empty when you’re gone,”_ He takes Keith’s other wrist, holding them up between them and sliding his grip until they’re holding hands, weaving their fingers together.

Keith just stares, eyes fixed on that easy going smile, those stupid, smoldering eyes. He feels heat crawling up the back of his neck, willing it to stay away from his face. Thank fuck for his gloves because he can feel his palms sweating.

Jesus, how does Lance do this to him?

 _”And they say, do you need me? Do you think I’m pretty?”_ As the chorus picks up, Lance dances simply. Just a few steps to the beat. A couple forward and a couple back, effectively just dancing in place, but always moving. His shoulders are into it, hands moving and dragging Keith’s along with it. Effectively forcing Keith’s torso to move along with his arms.

And just like that, a switch is flipped. Instincts take over. Years of dancing showing themselves as his body starts to move of it’s own accord. He’s stiff and awkward, and he knows it, but he’s moving, mirroring Lance’s steps, moving his arms with Lance’s, getting his body more into the beat. _”Do I make you feel like cheating? And I’m like no, not really cause,”_

He stares at their feet for a moment, and once he feels like he’s got the movement down, he glances up at Lance for some kind of confirmation. His face has brightened considerably, blinding and radiating and fuck, it’s too much.

Luckily, he’s saved the embarrassment of gaping at his stupid, happy smile as Lance suddenly lets go of one of his hands and uses the other to force him into a spin. _”Oh, I think that I found myself a cheerleader, she is always right there when I need her._ ”

He pulls Keith in close, and he finds himself pressed right up against him, bodies flush as their feet automatically go back to the previous pattern, only this time he has Lance’s arm around his lower back while the other still holds his hand. Keith’s own hands awkwardly rest on his shoulders as Lance continues to sing. _”Oh, I think that I found myself a cheerleader, she is always right there when I need her.”_

Even when his mind is reeling, his body automatically relaxes against Lance’s. It’s surreal and strange, but between Shiro and Allura’s lessons and their frequent make out sessions, he finds himself actually... kind of comfortable being this close to Lance. It’s such an odd contract to just a couple months ago, that he’s still trying to comprehend it when Lance suddenly spins him away again.

This time he lets go, leaving Keith standing on his own as he changes the song. Panic starts to well up inside him, squeezing his chest as he’s not sure what to do. But Lance is smiling and at least he recognizes _Immortals_.

Lance is already moving, dancing close and around him without actually touching. He’s giving Keith space to do his own thing, but without Lance’s guiding hand, Keith is left uncertain and grasping at straws. He tries. He really does. But he feels like everything he’s ever known about dancing flies out the window. His movements feel jerky and stiff, like he can’t quite catch up to the beat. Everything feels disjointed, like he can’t connect movements, meanwhile Lance is just moving around him with all the ease in the world.

He frowns, heat rising to his face. He can do this, he _knows_ he can, but it’s _not working_. And the more he fucks up, the more frustrated he feels, the tighter the grip on his chest. It doesn’t help that he can feel Lance watching him. Lance, who’s so _good_ at this. He wills himself to relax, but he just— _can’t_.

“This isn’t working.” He snaps, stopping abruptly and crossing his arms over his chest, shoulders hunching. He glares at his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Lance has stopped. He regards him silently for a moment, and Keith has to bite his cheek to keep from fidgeting.

“Alright, no problem. I have an idea.” Lance says, and it’s still calm and casual and not at all frustrated like Keith was expecting. He blinks, looking up and watching as Lance walks over to crouch by his bag, digging around in it. He stands then, spinning around and holding out— a strip of cloth? “ _Ta-da!_ ”

“What are you—“ He stops as Lance puts the cloth to his eyes and starts to tie it behind his head. His eyebrows shoot upward, lips pursing in a confused frown. “What are you doing?”

When it’s tied in place, he bends down to grab the remote before making his way back to where Keith’s standing, stopping several steps away. His smile is small, genuine and a little sheepish. “I had a feeling this might happen, so I came prepared.” He gestures to the blindfold. “This way I can still dance with you, but I can’t _see_ you, so you have no reason to be embarrassed.”

Keith’s lips part, forming a small circle in his surprise because _oh..._ That’s actually... really thoughtful?

Lance holds out his hand, though it’s a little off center and he’s facing more over Keith’s shoulder than actually at him. His smile never falters, small and confident and encouraging and trusting, wrapped up into this pretty little package that has Keith weak at the knees.

“Ready to try again?”

Keith is hesitant as he reaches out to take Lance’s hand, and the uncertainty bleeds into his voice. “I guess...”

Lance’s smile softens. “Just... try to relax, okay? It’s just me, and I can’t see you anyway.”

Keith takes a deep breath through his nose, and when he lets it out, he feels the ghost of a smile taking hold. “Okay.”

He takes Lance’s hand, and the long fingers curl around his own. His head cocks to the side, smirk in place. “By the way, I’m counting on you not to let me run into any walls. Don’t make me regret this, Kogane.”

Keith bites back a laugh. “No promises.”

It takes several more songs before Keith actually starts to feel himself relax. He stays stiff for the most part, dancing in the vaguest sense imaginable as he eyes Lance cautiously. But... it really does seem like he can’t see. He can’t see, _and_ he doesn’t care whatever Keith is doing. He just does his own thing, dancing on his own and occasionally skipping through the songs.

Which, Keith has noticed, isn’t as frequently as when he dances on his own, giving Keith plenty of time to adjust to a song before switching it up.

Once he’s certain that Lance really can’t see him, he lets himself experiment a little. He mimics some of Lance’s movements, getting a feel for them before putting his own spin on it. When he choreographs, he can stop and rewind, go again when he messes up. Here, he has to keep rolling with it. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see the moments that Lance fucks up, skips a beat or loses his balance, a transition gone wrong. But he always recovers so seamlessly that Keith blinks and it’s gone, making him question the fact that he faltered at all.

It’s… impressive, really.

Lance also has an incredible spacial awareness. Despite being unable to see, and despite constantly moving and turning, he never wanders away from the center of the room, circling it and owning it without ever wandering away, no matter which direction he turned.

“You gotta relax, Keith.” Lance sings roughly four songs in.

Keith scowls. “I _am_ relaxed.”

“You’re noooot,” He teases, stepping behind him, and playfully swatting for his hair. He misses and hits his shoulder, but the sentiment is there.

“How would you even know?”

“I can hear it in how you’re moving.” He says matter-of-factly. “You sound hesitant still. Chill, dude. It’s just you and me.”

“I _am_ relaxed...” He repeats, sounding more uncertain. He _is_ relaxed, for the most part. He just... doesn’t know how to move his body. He’s questioning everything. Even if it feels like he’s doing well, who’s to say he does just look like an idiot?

“Okay, let me rephrase.” Lance says, moonwalking in front of him and stopping, striking a disco pose. “Get out of your head.”

Keith blinks, brows pinching. “What?”

Lance smiles, sliding forward and reaching until his hands hit Keith’s chest. They move up as he steps close, putting his hands on Keith’s neck and leaning forward until their foreheads touch. Keith’s breath hitches, and he really fucking hopes Lance’s can’t hear it.

“Get out of your head.” He repeats, voice soft. Keith can feel his breath against his lips. “Stop thinking so much. Just... have fun. We’re just two friends being idiots and having fun. Stop thinking about what it looks like or what you’re doing and just _dance_.” He pulls away then, sliding backwards with a smirk on his lips that looks far more infuriating when Keith knows he can’t even see him. “Unless you don’t think you can.”

It’s a playful challenge. Keith’s knows it is. He _knows_ he’s being baited, and he takes it anyway. “Heh, we’ll see about that.” He says, confidence that he definitely doesn’t feel clicking into place in the face of Lance’s challenge.

“Prove it then, hot shot.”

 _Get out of your head_.

 _Stop thinking_.

_Patience yields focus._

It’s... surprisingly easy to slip into the right mindset after that. He just kind of... let’s go. Kicks that tight ball of nerves to the curb. Just... releases it. Let’s himself _really_ relax. Closes his own eyes and focuses on the songs as they play, lets himself _feel_ it. Let’s the beat move him.

Turns out, Lance was right. All music is the same at it’s heart. It’s all patterns, all rhythms that he’s heard thousands of times before. Even when he doesn’t _know_ the song, it doesn’t matter. He falters a little more than he’d like, but he just let’s it roll away, moves into the next bit.

His body is a lot more attuned to the moves he’s practiced than he realizes. He finds himself doing fragments of practiced choreography, slotting them together with other bits as the music hits just right. It’s natural and fluid, feels it in his muscle memory and in the way his body reacts.

It’s... It’s _freeing_. He feels light, at ease, and it’s _good_. He feels good.

When he bumps into Lance, jarring them both and nearly knocked them both to the floor, a laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it.

He turns, eyes open and finds Lance looking at him, blindfold already cast aside. His hair is a mess and his eyes are bright with laughter, grin wide and splitting his cheeks.

“When’d you take that off?” He’s not mad, just curious. He thought he _would_ be mad, but... he’s not. And he’s still moving. Body unwilling to stop now that he’s started.

Lance shrugs, grin turning mischievous. “A couple songs ago. You were so into it, you didn’t even notice. Didn’t want to throw you out of your groove though. You’re doing great.” He says, grabbing Keith’s hand and spinning him around before releasing him.

Both of them are laughing as the song switches. Lance’s music taste is all over the place, but Keith finds that he doesn’t really mind. Now that they’re eyes are open, they start to play off each other. Lance tries to copy his movements, which makes him try to set up more complicated sequences. They trade off, doing ridiculous moves before pointing to the other. When the songs switch to something slow, they do dramatic interpretations of Shiro and Allura, snickering the entire time.

When the song switches to _What What_ , Keith tries to wrestle the remote out of Lance’s hand, but he’s long and lanky and slippery like a snake. He sings loudly, bumping his hips and ass against Keith to stop his efforts, and Keith can only get the remote from him when he resorts to tickling.

When he changes the song, it goes to the Spice Girls, and honestly... he’s not too surprised. He gets to cherish the look of complete and utter shock on Lance’s face as he rattles off the lyrics to _Wannabe_ , complete with body rolls and hip pops.

Keith can’t remember the last time he had so much fun.

He’s not sure how much time passes before they stop, and he’s lost track of the songs that have gone by, but his body aches pleasantly and his breath is labored. His clothes stick to him as he makes his way over to his stuff and picks out his water bottle, chugging nearly half of it before gasping for air.

When he glances over at Lance, he’s in a similar shape, hair sticking up at odd angles from running his hands through it, but still managing to look good. More than good, really. Keith’s eyes follow a bead of sweat that drips down his neck, focusing in on how his Adam’s apple bobs while he drinks.

“Sooooo...” Lance says, and Keith’s eyes snap back up to his. He raises an eyebrow in silent question. Lance puts a hand on his hip, gesturing with his bottle. “You feeling better about all of this?”

Keith shrugs, capping his water bottle and tossing it aside. “I guess.” He frowns, brows pinching. “But I don’t— Hunk mentioned a dance off, right? Dancing here with you is one thing, but I don’t know if I can— in front of a crowd?”

He doesn’t even realize his hands are clenched into fists until Lance sets his bottle aside, sliding up next to him, putting one hand on his arm and the other wrapping around his back to rest on his hip. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s fun, okay? I promise. We play in teams, and it’s not like you’ll be dancing the whole time. We take turns, and you’ll only be dancing for _maybe_ twenty seconds max before you pass it off to someone else. _Barely_ enough time to fuck up.”

Keith looks up, making eye contact with Lance in the mirror. He gives him a flat look. “Gee, thanks.”

Lance chuckles, moving to stand more behind him, wrapping his arms casually around Keith’s waist and leaning down a fraction to rest his chin on his shoulder. When did they get to the point where they can just be this close and it’s not the least bit awkward? When did the nearness become more comfortable than it was awkward?

“Really, though. You’re a natural. You’re just overthinking it. I guarantee you’re a better dancer than most of the people there.”

Keith watches as his lips quirk into a small smirk. “Was that a compliment?”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes as he straightens. “What? No. You must have mullet in your ears.” He says, but he’s smiling.

His hands unwrap themselves, but they don’t leave him and he doesn’t step back. Instead, his hands slid over Keith’s waist to rest at his hips, a warm and firm weight that has goosebumps rising on his arms. In the mirror, Keith watches as he leans forward again, until their faces are side by side and he can feel his breath on his ear.

“You’re still a little stiff here though...” He says, voice dropping soft and low, fingers squeezing his hips lightly, eyes half lidded as they hold Keith’s in the mirror.

And just like that, the atmosphere shifts.

It’s so subtle, but so powerful. Movements suddenly slow and purposeful. Heat slipping into the air. Energy humming between them. Static where they touched. It goes right to Keith’s gut, coiling low and spreading heat between his legs even as his heart hammers in his throat. Everything is instantly more sensitive. He can feel his clothes where they rub at his skin, the warm, firm weight of Lance’s chest as he presses against Keith’s back.

He knows exactly where this is going.

“I can move my hips just fine.” He says, voice matching Lance’s, low and coy, lofty and playful.

Lance hums, and without looking away from Keith’s gaze in the mirror, he dips his head and presses a chaste, lingering kiss to the exposed curve of his neck. “Prove it.” He purrs in that way that never fails to make shivers run down Keith’s spine.

 _Fuck_.

He doesn’t recognize the song playing. He barely registers it’s there at all. Something hiphop, with a lot of bass and a heavy beat. Lance’s hips start moving first, pressed up against him from behind, a slow grind that has Keith immediately following. He sways his hips under the guidance of Lance’s hands, encouraged by the press of his hips.

Lance’s fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, sliding along the skin above his waistband, back and forth, fleeting light touches that are both too much and not enough. A tease and a promise. His breath hitches, and his back arches automatically, pressing his ass back into Lance’s hips. Lance hums, low and deep, bending his head again to lick up Keith’s neck before pressing a kiss behind his ear.

His head tilts to the side, eyes closing and breath becoming heavier. Lance drags his teeth down his neck before biting into the juncture of his shoulder. Keith gasps, hands going to rest on Lance’s forearms. Not to stop him and not necessarily to encourage him. Simply as an anchor as he finds himself quickly spiraling, losing himself to the moment.

Lance’s finger dip below his waistband, sliding across his stomach and feeling the curve of his hipbones, and Keith is gone. He no longer needs Lance’s encouragement to move his hips. He grinds back against him, pulling his stomach in to create just the barest of gaps between his waist band and skin, giving Lance more room, encouraging as best he can, willing silently for him to keep going, don’t stop, just a little more.

He doesn’t register the press of Lance’s leg at first. It’s only when the push becomes more insistent that he notices. He’s having trouble thinking at the moment, so he goes with it, taking a step forward as Lance does. Then another. And another. Then the mirror is right in front of him and Lance is pressing up against his back.

He bends forward, hands going out to brace himself against the mirror, pressing more firmly against the solid weight behind him, loving the drape of Lance’s body against him. Lance hooks his chin over Keith’s shoulder, meets his eyes, dark and lidded and _hungry_.

He looks just as far gone as Keith feels.

“Is this alright...?” He asks, voice low and husky, barely above a whisper as the fingers of one hand splay out across his stomach while the others slide beneath his waist band, lightly running back and force across sensitive skin.

Keith’s heart is in his throat, body jerking at the touch, muscles quivering beneath Lance’s fingertips. He licks his lips, giving a small nod as he manages to say, “Yeah...” It’s simple and short, but he barely recognizes his own voice.

Then Lance’s hands are at the front of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping with trembling but confident fingers, pushing the fabric of his jeans aside. He hesitates for only a moment before his hands are slipping past the waistband of Keith’s boxers, fingers searching, finding, wrapping around him—

Keith’s entire body tenses, back arching, head thrown to the side. He’s semi hard already, and Lance wastes no time getting him all the way there. His hand explores, gentle touches, feeling out everything. It’s slow, and it’s torture. Keith bites his lip to keep from saying anything, but he can’t quite bite back the moan that slips out of his throat when Lance swipes a thumb over the tip.

Lance picks up his pace, and distantly, Keith notices the music doing the same, somehow encouraging and driving them onward. He pushes back against Lance, feeling his own hard length pressed up against his ass and grinding against it as best he can, trying to get closer as Lance’s hand works him. His other hand slips deeper beneath his waistband, fingers groping at his thigh.

Lance’s lips are at his neck again, and Keith’s head hangs forward, breaths coming in heavy pants as his eyes squeeze shut. His knees are shaking, and he’s certain they would have given out if he hadn’t been using the mirror to hold himself up.

Lance’s touch is electric, and Keith is on fire.

The familiar warm builds a lot faster than he anticipated, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. Because Lance is touching him, and it feels incredible. He can’t really think about anything besides the points where their bodies touch, about how there are far too many clothes between them, about how he wants to feel his lips—

He tilts his head to the side, mouth searching. He can’t find words, but Lance seems to understand what he wants anyway, because a moment later they’re kissing. There’s far too much teeth and tongue, uncoordinated and messy, but it’s so _good_ , and it pushes him over the edge.

He distantly hears himself choking out a mangled version of Lance’s name, caught between a gasp and a moan. It’s further muffled by the fact that Lance refuses to stop kissing him throughout it all. Lips insistent and needy even as he works Keith through his orgasm.

And then they’re both just standing there, frozen and trying desperately to catch their breath. Keith is certain the only think keeping him standing is the mirror and Lance. Lance, who’s hand is still shoved down his pants, probably a mess. Oh god, he didn’t bring another pair of boxers. He’s either going to have to deal with wet boxers or free ball it home.

Fuck, this was going to be the most uncomfortable drive ever.

And yet... he can’t really bring himself to regret it.

Not when he has Lance near collapsed against him, breathing heavily in his ear, hips still rocking in these little needy motions, reminding Keith that he’s still hard. He’s not even certain Lance realizes he’s doing it.

“That’s payback for last week,” Lance manages to say, voice hoarse as he slowly pulls his hand back, wiping it on Keith’s pants.

Asshole.

Still... Keith supposes he deserves it. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t enjoy it.

As soon as Lance moves away from him, Keith turns, collapsing back against the mirror. His heart is starting to come down, breathing finally calming a little bit. He still feels dazed. Blood pleasantly humming in his veins, electricity sparking along his arms.

Lance gives him a smug smile, dark eyes looking him over, no doubt taking pleasure in how much of a wreck he looks. Keith has no delusions over the fact that he looks like a mess, but that doesn’t stop the little stab of irritation at seeing that cocky grin.

He wants to make Lance just as much of a mess as he feels.

Lance starts to step away, half turning with some sort of flimsy excuse on his lips. He doesn’t get a chance. Keith reaches out, grabbing his arm to stop him. He looks down, blinking before raising an eyebrow and meeting Keith’s gaze. “Keith?”

Keith feels the predatory smirk curl his lips, slow and purposeful. He can _see_ when Lance shudders. “Your turn.”

He gives Lance a firm tug, turning him and pressing his back against the mirror. He takes a moment to lean into his chest, claiming his mouth with renewed vigor and purpose. Then his legs start to shake, and he knows he can’t stay standing much longer, so he gives in and lets himself fall to his knees. Looking up at Lance, memorizing that look of surprise and need darkening his eyes, making his jaw go slack, Keith tugs at Lance’s waistband.

He’s heavy on Keith’s tongue, tasting of salt and precum. He doesn’t care, and swallows him down eagerly.

It doesn’t take long before he feels the tug of warning on his hair, and just because he’s feeling vengeful, he pulls off him, covering him with his own boxers right before he comes. If Keith has to sit in his mess, so does Lance.

They both collapse to the floor, backs propped up against the mirror as they try to ground themselves. Their hands rest between them, fingers lightly resting atop one another, loosely interlaced.

“You... are _evil_.” Lance says after a long moment, head tilted back against the mirror.

Keith stares across the room, eyes lazily lidded as he smiles. “You started it.”

That was a forth line crossed, and once again, they crossed it together. He knows there’s no going back from here, and honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [NSFW-ish Scene](https://cockpainters.tumblr.com/post/164156824000/that-doesnt-look-like-dance-practice-nsfw-art) <\-- found on Sora's nsfw blog
> 
> Five chapters left! I really want to push through to the end, so we can focus on other projects. So you may see updates here faster than our other fics. 
> 
> If you want early access to chapter updates and want to find ways to support me, please check out my tumblr or twitter. I appreciate all your support!
> 
> ___________________________________________________________  
> DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC
> 
> Instead, hop on over here and reblog it from the artist herself [HERE](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/164156842554/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-11-update)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	12. Break the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **vive la lance** : okay so you know in titanic when the boat is going ass side up and that one guy falls and breaks his fucking legs on the propeller then goes into a 360 spin like 15 times before hitting the freezing water face first?  
>  **uptown hunk** : of course  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : that’s my fav part  
>  **vive la lance** : thats me  
>  **vive la lance** : thats a metaphor for my life  
>  **vive la lance** : Im in too deep  
>  **vive la lance** : Im drowning  
>  **vive la lance** : titanic take me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important Note:**   
>  _While looking over the outline for the rest of this fic, I decided that two chapters by themselves didn't have enough development and substance to stand alone, so I combined them into a single chapter. Because of this, you'll notice that the total chapters for this fic have gone from 16 to 15. It's still the same amount of time passing and the same events happening, but with just one less update. It's no big deal in the grand scheme of things, but this is just so you're not confused if you notice the number change!_
> 
>  
> 
> There is a short smut scene in this chapter. If that isn't your cup of tea, when you get to that part, skip on down to the next line break. Stay safe, y'all.
> 
> There is a character injury at the end of this chapter. Please take care.
> 
> Happy reading!

Much like with Lance, Keith is starting to develop a complicated relationship with Altea Dance Studio.

On one hand, it’s his safe haven. He feels at home among these halls. He finds comfort in the familiar sights, smells, sounds. This studio introduced him to dancing. It helped him through a rough spot in his life. Taught him a new way to express himself, to let it out, to destress, to relax. It gave him a purpose that he never thought he’d have, but cherishes nonetheless.

This studio is where his brother’s heart is, his stability, his center. This studio is where Allura’s legacy is, her spirit practically radiating from the very foundation. This studio is where he reconnected with old friends and made new ones. This studio is where he found a new family.

This studio is where he found Lance.

He’s always been happy to be at the studio because the studio has always been where he comes to escape his problems, to be himself, to do the things he wants to do. The studio has always been where everything makes sense.

Now, however, nothing makes sense anymore.

Here and now, walking through these halls, his chest feels tight. His palms feel sweaty beneath his gloves, and his fingers are twitching, tapping and rubbing fingers to thumb. The hand holding the strap of his bag drums idly rhythms, rushed and incoherent. His steps are heavy, like his body is made of lead as he drags himself up the stairs. He knows, logically, that his movements are no less fluid than they usually are, but he _feels_ stiff. Like his mind and awareness aren’t quite connected to his body.

Walking through the doors of Altea, seeing the familiar worn hardwood floors reflecting the florescent lights, smelling the vaguely citrus smell of whatever cleaner Coran uses, hearing the muffled sounds of music practically pulsing through the walls. It used to all put him at ease, center him, clear his headspace.

Now his headspace has never been more cluttered, and it’s leaking out into his chest. Making his heart pound restlessly, tightening and clenching as he thinks about his practice room, as he subconsciously listens specifically for Lance’s voice, as he imagines that smile, that voice.

And no matter how much he thinks about it, prepares for it, seeing him always blindsides Keith. Hits him like a truck to the chest. Leaves him out of breath and momentarily flat lining until Lance does something else that jolts life back through his veins.

It’s dizzying. It’s exhilarating. It’s nauseating. It makes him feel light and warm, and it makes him feel heavy and leaden.

He used to look forward to coming to Altea Dance Studios, and he still does, but his reasons have shifted somewhat, and he hasn’t gotten used to it. Hasn’t gotten used to the way his body reacts to Lance now. Isn’t sure he _wants_ to get used to it. But it bothers him all the same.

Makes him feel anxious, worried, nervous, anticipation turning sour in his gut whenever he pulls up to the parking lot and walks through those doors, climbs these familiar steps.

But then he walks into room 4D. He sees that familiar face. The bright smile that usually shows himself when he walks in. Hears that familiar voice. And suddenly the knot in his gut is unwinding, releasing butterflies that bounce around in his chest and make him feel weak at the knees.

Then they always fall back into familiarity. Always, without fail. No matter how anxious he is on his way, no matter how much he worries, no matter how many shy looks they share and tentative smiles and hesitant touches at the beginning of practice. They always fall back into familiarity, warm and comforting.

Because no matter how else he feels, no matter what eats away at him when they’re apart, no matter what gets him all stirred up inside when they’re together, the fact remains that he’s comfortable with Lance. He trusts Lance. He likes being around Lance.

Altea Dance Studios may have been his second home for a long time, his escape and his refuge from the world, but now it’s starting to be that way simply because of the people inside it.

His brother.

His friends.

Lance.

Climbing the stairs, Keith can feel his heart convulsing with every step, stomach fluttering as he reaches the door to the fourth floor.

Jesus fucking _Christ_ , he needs to get a grip.

He’s being fucking ridiculous. It’s just Lance. No matter how pretty, how attractive, how he makes Keith’s body feel, it’s just Lance. He’s dealt with Lance for months now. So what if their last practice has Lance pressing him to the mirror with his hand down Keith’s pants, eyes lidded and smoldering as they met Keith’s in the reflection— oh god, how the _fuck_ is he going to look in that mirror now?

Is this going to become a regular thing? They’ve already crossed the line here at the studio twice now. It wouldn’t surprise him if they kept this momentum going. At the thought of this, of getting each other off, of wandering hands and desperate lips, becoming a regular part of their practice schedule, Keith feels both dread and excitement coiling in his gut, twisting and writhing until neither could be told apart.

He’s not sure what to make of that, and he’s not sure how to feel about it.

Fortunately, he’s distracted from those thoughts at the sound of voices as he steps out into the hallway.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t recognize those voices.

The music is nothing out of the ordinary. He’s not surprised anymore by the variety of genres that come from putting Lance’s phone on shuffle. What _is_ out of the ordinary, however, is the fact that Lance is here _right now_. And the fact that he’s not alone.

Keith pauses for a moment, pulling out his phone to check the time, and, yup, it’s still ten minutes early. Keith had kind of been hoping to arrive before him and get a chance to settle his erratic heartbeat in the room by himself before he had to face Lance. Guess that isn’t going to happen.

He shoved his phone back into his bag and inches toward their room. The door is cracked, and he puts his hand tentatively on it, slowly pushing it open and peeking through.

Lance is there, in the center of the room, along with three kids. One is clinging to his back like her life depends on it, dark, wavy hair pulled back into pigtails. She buries her face in Lance’s neck, arms and legs wrapped tight around him. Lance spins around in place, holding onto a young boy’s hands and spinning him fast enough that his legs have left the ground. A third child, a little girl with a wide, toothy smile and a missing front tooth, jumps up and down around them, fists thrown into the air as she encourages them with wordless shouts.

It’s such a strange sight, and one Keith _definitely_ didn’t sign up for. It’s not that he’s not _good_ with kids, it’s just that... he’s not sure what to _do_ with them. He has a hard enough time reading adults, let alone hyperactive little enigmas. Just the thought of it, after having no prior warning or preparation, has his chest squeezing with a whole new kind of anxiety.

They haven’t noticed him yet, and he wants to just leave. It would be so easy. Just duck back out of the room, sneak back down the hall, and send Lance a text saying he can’t make it today. He’d probably beat himself up about it later, but right now, escape is the only thing on his mind.

But when he goes to move, he finds his feet firmly planted, eyes unable to look away.

Because... they’re laughing. All of them. Laughing and screaming in volumes that are _not_ inside voices, but he’s not really surprised if these kids are related to Lance. And he’s certain they have to be. They all have the same dark skin, the same brown hair, the same bright smiles that light up their faces. The same abundance of energy and uninhibited laugh.

Even as anxiety squeezes at his lungs, his heart clenches, warmth pooling in his gut and spreading outward, melting the ice in his veins.

The scene before him is oddly intimate. Something between family. A warm and comfortable bubble that he feels like he’s not allowed to be apart of. Feels like he’s watching from the outside. Like nothing can touch them in this moment. It’s a part of Lance he’s only seen glimpses of in the bookstore, and Keith is realizing now that he wants to see more of it.

The realization hits him out of no where, sneaks up behind him and sweeps his feet out from under him, leaves him with the sensation of falling but the ground is never there to catch him, leaves him breathless, exhilarated, and _terrified_.

They start to slow down, and eventually the boy’s feet touch the ground again. Both he and Lance wobble as they try to get their bearings, and Lance’s hands go to the feet wrapped around his torso, making sure his back passenger is still in place.

With the boy no longer spinning, Keith realizes that he _recognizes_ him. Leo. Lance’s little brother. The one that bears such a strong and striking resemblance that he might as well be looking at a then and now picture. He’s met him several times at the bookstore by now, but he’s still surprised every time. His hair is shaggier, and his nose is a little wider, but all his other features are still round with youth and could easy be exactly what Lance looked like as a child.

Leo, stumbling across the floor in a way that’s probably more exaggerated than needed, another trait Keith is starting to associate with Lance’s family, is the first to notice him. His eyes land on Keith, and he stands still as he can, still leaning precariously to the side. His face blanks for a moment, brows furrowing in thought.

Keith freezes, heart hammering as he momentarily forgets to breathe. He can’t run now. He can’t. He’s going to be expected to interact with them. He’s going to have to barge into his perfect little warm bubble of family, and he doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t—

Then Leo is grinning, bright and wide, crinkling his eyes in the same way Lance’s does.

“Keith!” He says, cheerful and friendly, like he does when Lance brings him by the bookstore and they stalk him through the aisles.

At the sound of his name, Lance’s head snaps up, stumbling just slightly at the sudden movement. Their eyes meet, and Keith is _far_ too aware of the beat of his heart. It’s loud and painful and surely everyone else can hear it too?

For a moment, just a moment, he panics. Lance’s face is blank, eyes wide, lips lax, several emotions pinging across his features before he settles into sheepish. He gives Keith a small smile, almost shy, looking up through his lashes. And it’s so out of place that it snaps Keith out of his thoughts.

“Uh, hey, Keith.” Lance says, uncertain, weight shifting from foot to foot, shoulders hunched just slightly.

“Hey,” He says, hoping it doesn’t sounds as breathless as it feels. He pushes into the room, gently pushing the door shut behind him. He stands there, awkward and unsure, lifting a hand in a stiff wave and cringing at it as soon as he does it.

The other two are looking at him now, too. The little girl on the floor eyes him openly and curiously, face scrunched up, perplexed, like she’s not sure what to make of him but she doesn’t quite care either way. The one on Lance’s back is shyer, peering up at him from under her bangs, face still half buried in Lance’s shoulder.

Lance’s smile is apologetic as he reaches behind him, bending forward as he disentangled the girl from his back and lifts her over his head, setting her on the floor. She immediately clings to his shirt, stepping around him so he stands between her and Keith, but she keeps her eyes on him.

“So, uh... sorry about springing this on you. I was about to leave, but then mama had to take baby Oliver to the doctor because of his ear infection, cause my brother and his wife are at work, and that’s like, ten times easier when you don’t have three other kids in tow, and Sophie’s at soccer practice, so she couldn’t babysit, and—“

“Lance,” Keith says, cutting him off before he can really get started. Because Keith _knows_ Lance, and he’s been around him enough to recognize when a nervous ramble is coming, and boy was he trucking toward that at top speed. Lance snaps his mouth shut, eyes still wide and brows furrowed, and Keith offers him a small smile. “It’s fine.”

The words are simple, but he hopes the tone of his voice is enough. It seems to do the trick. Lance’s whole body relaxes, shoulders slumping, and a small, easy smile taking over his lips. “Okay, yeah... cool.”

The silence that passes between them and the gaze they share is just a hair to intimate for Keith’s liking, but at the same time, he can’t bring himself to want it to stop.

He stares at Keith for perhaps a second too long before he seems to snap out of it, whole body jerking as he turns his gaze to the kids around him. “Right, so, you already know Leo.” He says, putting a heavy hand on his brother’s head and ruffling his hair.

Leo just grins, giving Keith a little salute and a wink, which sends Keith for a loop because he looks _just like Lance_. “Yo!”

“And these two pretty ladies are my brother’s kids.” He holds his hand out to the girl who had jumping around them. She takes it, and he spins her around several times. “This is Abigail.” He reaches his other hand toward the girl clinging to his side, soothing it across her hair and down her back. “And the shy one is Maria. They’re twins.” His smile is soft and fond, matching perfectly to the hints of pride in his voice.

And it’s really just too much. He’s seen Lance with Sophie, and he’s seen Lance with Leo. With them, he’s the older brother. He’s loving but teasing, picking on them and holding an air of authority that they abide to, but not without some teasing and protests of their own.

This, however, is different. _Uncle_ Lance is different. Uncle Lance is soft in all of these subtle ways. Mature and fond and soft and protective and fun and Jesus, Keith could just go on and on but he _can’t_ because the sight of it has his heart racing and his mind blanking.

“Everyone say hi to Keith, my dance partner.” Lance says, completely unaware of what he’s _doing_ to him.

“Hi, Keith,” Abigail and Leo say, monotoned and loud, a cue well known whenever they’re introduced to someone. Maria stays quiet, but she hasn’t stopped watching Keith, and he’s starting to fidget under the four pairs of eerily similar blue eyes.

“Uh, hi,” Keith tries again, feeling incredibly out of place.

Abigail is the first to break the moment, deciding Keith is no longer of interest and turning back to Lance. “Tío Lance!” She says, bouncing on her feet and tugging at his hand. “My turn! Spin me! Spin me!”

He smiles at her kindly, but shakes his head. “Not now, Abbi. Keith and I have to practice.”

She immediately slumps, face scrunching into a pout, and _holy shit_. Has Lance taught all of these kids his expressions or do they just run in the family? “But Leo got to!”

“I’ll spin you after, okay? I promise.” He says, pulling his hand away from her and gently nudging Maria around his body and toward the wall. “You guys promised to behave, remember? If you sit and be good while we practice, I promise we can play more later.”

Abigail sighs loudly, tossing her head back and turning her sigh into a drawn out groan. “ _Fiiiine_ ,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest as she stomps over to the wall and turns her back to it, sliding down and sitting on the floor, pout still held strong.

Keith has to bite back a laugh, turning it into a cough to cover it up. It catches Lance’s attention however, and he turns to look at Keith, pointing a warning finger at him. “Not a word, Kogane.” He says flatly, fighting the smile that threatens to tug at the corners of his lips.

Keith rolls his eyes and turns to hide his own smile, going to the other side of the room to set his bag down by the mirror.

“Will you teach us how to dance?” Leo asks, excitement coloring his voice and slurring his words. “Show your moves!” He says in a cadence and tone that sounds suspiciously like Captain Falcon, and Keith glances up in the mirror in time to see him strike a pose that looks entirely inspired by disco.

Holding back his smile becomes near painful as he watches Lance strike a mirroring pose. “After we’re done, buddy. I’ll teach you how to dance like a pro.”

Keith isn’t sure he’s going to survive the next hour.

The practice itself goes fairly smoothly after that. Now that they finally see eye-to-eye and have fallen into a groove with their choreography, their regionals dance is progressing smoothly. For the most part, Lance let’s Keith take the reigns when it comes to their choreography, but Keith has started to develop an appreciation for Lance’s input, and is more than willing to listen to his ideas when he has them. It helps him out of his own creative slumps, and keeps them from having a mental roadblock.

Though he still feels an initial spark of irritation when Lance suggests they change something that Keith has come up with, that spark is quickly put out by the realization that Lance doesn’t just make suggestions for no reason. There’s always a reason, and they’re usually pretty insightful. Like how it might come across better to an audience, what would make it easier for them, what’s worth the risk and what isn’t, what looks better aesthetically, and what would help them transition easier between moves.

For the most part, Keith is choreographing the verses, and Lance has the chorus covered, but the whole thing is this odd mix of both of their ideas and input.

And Keith... really likes it. Makes it feel like _theirs_. Makes everything feel that much better when they click and line up and he can _feel_ that synergy.

They make a better team than Keith anticipated, once they got over that initial roadblock. Keith puts a little more structure to their practices, and Lance keeps Keith from getting too far into his head, from taking everything too seriously.

This practice is no different. They go over what they’ve already done, and work through things they’re still structuring. It’s a lot of repeating. A lot of start and stop. It’s a lot of one dancing while the other watches, picking apart the performance and finding each other’s weak spots to work on.

And the kids are surprisingly good. They sit quietly off to the side, back so the wall, occasionally talking together in low voices. Leo has his nose buried in a book, while Abigail and Maria busy themselves with a tablet.

They’re so well behaved that it’s easy to forget they’re there.

Unfortunately, _they’re so well behaved that Keith has trouble remembering they’re there._

Every touch, every smile, every roll of Lance’s body sends Keith’s heart into a stuttering double time. Makes his smiles shy and coy all at once. Makes him leave lingering touches. Makes him pop his hips just a little more, roll his body just a little more, makes him lift his shirt to wipe sweat from his face because he knows Lance will stare at his exposed stomach.

Because he _knows_ Lance at this point, and Lance knows him. They know how to set each other off. They _know_ that the other is staring, and they don’t feel like they have to hide it. They like it, and they _know_ the other likes it. Not only are they dancing around each other, but they’re dancing _around_ each other.

Teasing and coy, slowly and subtly building up at atmosphere that sparks and crackles between them. An energy that Keith feels vibrating through the air and an itch beneath his skin. And from the looks Lance gives him, from the way he moves just a fraction slower than he needs to, eyes lidded, lips cocked in that confident smirk, fingertips dancing across his skin when there’s no real reason for them to be, Keith knows that Lance feels it, too.

Then Keith catches sight of he kids in the mirror, and his heart damn near stops.

This is _not_ the time to be thinking about Lance’s hands on his body. Of how he wants Lance to push him to the floor and wrap his legs around his hips. Of how he wants to bite at those pretty, thin, soft lips until they’re swollen and red and Lance can’t smile without feeling it and thinking about him.

This is _not_ the time.

And the dread knotting in his stomach and the realization of their presence is like ice in his veins, putting out whatever fire if building between them enough to keep Keith in line and his hands to himself.

So their practice ends up being extra productive, if only because they don’t have the option to be _distracted_ , and the knowledge of that forces Keith to focus.

They make it about forty minutes before Abigail starts to get restless. Every time they stop the song to reset, she perks up and asks “ _Now_ , Tío Lance?” before slumping back into a pout when he says no. Eventually, Leo joins in, setting his book aside and watching them with avid interest.

When they finish doing a run through of everything, as patchwork and rocky as it is, Leo’s already on his feet, practically jumping up and down with his fists clenched tight in front of him. “Lance! _Lance_!” He says to get their attention. His eyes are bright and his face expressive. Keith wonders if all of the McClain’s are like that.

“What is it, buddy?” Lance asks, grabbing his water bottle and chugging a sip before lowering it, gasping for breath.

Keith is too busy watching the way a drop of water runs down the column of his throat and the way Lance wipes carelessly at his mouth to notice when Lance tosses the water bottle at him. He fumbles with it, but manages to hold on, no doubt looking flustered and startled. Lance just gives him a knowing smirk and a wink before turning back to his brother.

“Can you show us how to do that move?” Leo asks, excitement bubbling and infectious.

It has Abigail on her feet, too, jumping up and down beside him, chanting, “ _Show us! Show us! Show us!_ ”

Lance raises an eyebrow, cocking one hip to the side and putting his hand on it. “What move? We did a lot of moves just now.”

Leo rolls his eyes, whole body getting into it and head lolling to the side. “ _Thaaat_ move, Lance!” He says, like it should be obvious which one he means. He glares as Lance continues to just stare at him, eyebrows quirked and lips tilted in amusement. Finally, he huffs and steps forward. “The move that was like—“

He does... something. He certainly tries. Keith thinks it might be an attempt at one of the moves they have in their chorus, but honestly it’s so all over the place and vague that it could be a variation of several moves they have in their routine. In the process of his attempt, Leo nearly falls over, gangly limbs flailing.

Keith manages to keep his face carefully blank, but Lance has no such luck. He laughs, good natured and kind. “Oh, _that_ move,” He says, though Keith is certain he actually has no idea what move Leo is talking about. “Alright, calm down, buddy. We don’t need you falling and breaking something. Mama would kill me.”

“Then show me how to do it _right!_ ” Leo protests, whine dragging out his words.

Abigail is a bundle of barely contained energy beside him. She bunches her fists up under her chin, turns a suspiciously familiar set of puppy dog eyes on Lance, and says, “ _Pleaaaase_ , Tío Lance?”

And that has Lance’s resolve cracking.

He turns to Keith, expressions conflicting as he says, “Do you mind?” And his voice is two parts worried, one part uncertain, one part amused, and two parts defeated.

Keith’s lips tug up into the shadow of a smile as he waves Lance off. “Yeah, it’s no problem. We got a lot done today anyway.”

With permission, Lance’s face brightens right the fuck up, back straightening and grin spreading wide. “Cool, awesome,” He turns to Leo and Abigail and gestures them over. “You heard the man! Get over here.”

They squeal in delight and charge across the floor, coming to a stop in front of Lance, both of them talking a mile a minute about what they want him to show them. Lance is laughing, attempting and failing to corral them. Keith watches for a moment, smile widening of its own accord, before he noticed something is off.

Maria hasn’t joined them.

He glances over at her, expression falling into one of curious confusion. She’s still sitting up against the wall, tablet cradled in her lap and hand hovering above it, but her attention is on the other, glancing shyly up at them from under her lashes. She bites at her bottom lip.

Keith’s heart aches, lurching and squeezing with an intensity that catches him off guard, nearly making him stumble with it. He _knows_ that look. He recognizes the longing in her expression, in her eyes. He knows it because he’s experienced it. Far more times than he’d like to admit.

His feet are moving before he really thinks about it, carrying him across the room and placing him beside her. He leans against the wall, taking a moment to simply watch the others. Lance is doing his best to guide the other two through some simpler moves. Surprisingly, Abigail is better at picking up on rhythm than Leo is, despite their age gap. Leo seems to have the coordination of a three-legged turtle, but the spark of defiance and determination on his face is something admirable.

And the smile that overtakes everything when he figures out how to do it warms the room.

Keith likes watching them. Likes sitting off to the side and watching Lance interact with his brother and niece. It’s like getting a peek at a side of Lance that he normally isn’t privy to, and he likes it. Makes him feel a lot of things that he doesn’t really want to dwell on right now, but enjoys nonetheless.

But there’s a shadow in the room, and he feels the overwhelming urge to address it.

He slides down the wall, sitting far enough away from Maria to give her space, but close enough that their conversation can be kept private. She’s turned back to her tablet, focusing on it far too heavily for it to be anything more than just for show. Her brows are furrowed, lips pursed into a small pout, gaze pointedly downward. Keith watches her for a moment, and despite the awkwardness fizzling in his chest, a smile finds its way to his face.

“I like your bracelets.” He says softly.

She startles, like she wasn’t expecting him to actually speak. She jerks her head to the side, gazing at him with eyes that are far, far too blue. Her mouth hangs open slightly, confusion coloring her features.

His smile widens just a fraction, and he points to the colorful woven bracelets around her small wrists. “I like your bracelets.” He repeats, and she looks at them like she had completely forgotten they were there. Now that he’s actually looking, he realizes that they all have them. Maria, Abigail, and Leo. The twins have them on both wrists, and Leo only has them on one, but they all have them. “They look like Lance’s.”

She brightens a little bit, legs relaxing and tablet fallen forgotten in her lap as she holds out wrists, picking at each bracelet in turn. “Tío Lance made this one and this one.” She says, pointing out ones with themes of blue. “Tia Norah made this one. Abuela made this one. Abbi made me this one. Papa made me this one. Mama made me one but hers fell off cause she’s not good at it.”

Keith finds himself chuckling, her soft enthusiasm infectious and bubbling in his chest. “Did you make any of them?” He asks.

She shakes her head, lips pursing slightly. “You don’t make them for _yourself_.” She says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And Keith’s stomach flips, twisting in on itself in rolls that aren’t necessarily unpleasant, but leave him feeling light and distant. He’s _known_ that all of Lance’s bracelets were made by his family. He’s known it. Lance has _told_ him. Has said it’s a family tradition that they’re passing down through the generations.

He just... hasn’t really thought about it before. Hasn’t taken the time to imagine Lance with his brothers and sisters, his nieces, his parents, all of them gathered around with colored thread, weaving them together to make bracelets for each other. Each of them a gift. Each of them binding each other together. Each of them a reminder of family.

And it’s not a secret, and never has been, but Keith feels like he’s stumbled across one anyway. Looks across the room at Lance and feels like his heart can’t make up it’s mind about whether it wants to sink into his stomach or lodge itself in his throat.

It’s stupid. It’s small. It’s just a little family tradition, but it’s just so _Lance_. Another puzzle piece that makes up the whole of who he is. Another layer unlocked. Something this trivial, something he already _knew_ , shouldn’t affect him this much, but it _does_. It does, and it scares him and it excites him, and makes him feel _so much_ that he doesn’t feel like he has the mental capacity to dwell on right now.

So instead he turns back to Maria and asks the question that had him coming over here to begin with. “Why aren’t you dancing with them?”

She shies away at the question, shoulders hunching a little as she pulls into herself. “I don’t wanna...” She mumbles, but it’s not convincing.

“Why not?”

She picks at her bracelets, eyes on them to avoid looking at anyone else. For a moment, Keith doesn’t think she’ll answer, and when she does, it’s a mumble that he has to strain to hear. “I’m not good at it...”

He smiles, scooting an inch closer so they can talked in soft, muted voices. “Not everyone is good at it, especially when they’re just starting out.” He says kindly, feeling the odd sense of deja vu as Shiro’s own words to him echo in his memory. It had taken a lot of prodding for Shiro to get him to try it, but he was incredibly grateful that he had.

“Abbi is...” She says, glancing up at her twin before looking back down.

Keith watches them for a moment, watches as Lance pokes and prods at Leo and Abbi’s held pose before standing back, rubbing his chin as he looks over them with an over done critical gaze before nodding.

“Yeah,” He admits. “But maybe you are, too. You don’t know until you try.”

She shakes her head quickly. “I already did. I’m not good.”

Keith leans in toward her, lowering his voice like he’s about to tell her a secret. It piques her interest just as he hoped it would. “Neither is Leo, but he’s still having fun.” He says, and she blinks, then smiles. They both glance over as Leo loses his balance and falls flat on his ass. Keith smiles and Maria giggles before turning back to him. She looks him over, losing some shyness in her curiosity. “Were you good when you started?”

He shakes his head, “Nope.” He says, leaning back against the wall. “My brother taught me how to dance. It took a while before I was willing to dance in front of other people.” He picks at the hem of his gloves, eyes on Lance as he helps his brother off the floor. “I _still_ have trouble dancing in front of people sometimes, but... Lance is helping me with that. He’s a good teacher.” He says, distantly aware of how soft his voice is, but unable to be embarrassed about it when the only one who can hear him is Maria.

Lance glances up at them and catches Keith’s eye. He jerks a little when their eyes lock, breath leaving his lungs in a slow exhale. Then Lance glances between him and Maria, and he smiles this smile that’s small, and soft, and _fond_ , and Keith simultaneously feels like he can breath again and like he can’t breathe at all.

Then Lance’s attention is dragged away as Abigail tugs at his hand.

“You’re a good dancer, too.” Maria says, pulling him back to himself.

He blinks, turning to her. “What?”

“You’re a good dancer.” She says, matter-of-fact and certain, nodding to herself as if to affirm this fact. “Like Tío Lance.”

“Uh, thanks.” He says, offering her a small smile.

“Can you teach me?” She asks, voice small and barely audible above the music pulsing through the speakers. Her shyness is back in full force, and she refuses to look at him.

“Me?” Keith says, entirely baffled. “But... what about Lance...?”

She shrugs, fingers toying with her bracelets again. “He’s busy with Abbi and Leo...”

And Keith doesn’t know what possesses him then. Maybe it’s how his heart aches for her. Maybe it’s because he sees some of himself in her. Maybe it’s because watching Lance’s family makes him feel whole and empty at the same time. He normally doesn’t like kids, doesn’t know how to deal with them, but... he thinks he’ll make an exception.

He pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his pants before turning to her, holding out his hand and giving her a small that’s barely there, but one that he knows she’ll be able to see. “Alright,” He says softly. “Let’s go.”

She hesitates for only a moment, conflict and uncertainty passing over her features, before she shoves her tablet aside and and stands, taking his hand with brows and lips pursed in a determined flare that is so incredibly familiar.

He takes her off to the side of the room, as far away from the others as they can get. He feels awkward at first, but it fades quickly. Maria puts him at ease. Turns out she has her own little sparks of energy, but she’s not as loud and outward about it as the others. She’s quieter, more reserved, more hesitant, but he keeps seeing these glimpses of her that just scream _McClain_ , and it warms his heart.

They don’t do anything fancy, but he gets her to try some basic dance moves. And once she relaxes into it, she’s not actually that bad. Not for someone her age. Certainly better than Leo. She has a natural rhythm, even if she doubts herself. He even gets her to smile, and he feels like he’s won the fucking lottery.

At one point she stands on his feet and holds onto his hands as he moves them around, and he can _feel_ Lance’s eyes on them. He feels it like a burn against his skin. He can practically see that smile out of the corner of his eye, but he refuses to look at him. He doesn’t know what will happen if he gets the full force of whatever expression Lance is wearing. And honestly, he’s scared to find out.

When their time slot is up, Lance gets the kids over their disappointment quickly by promising milkshakes. They pack up quickly, charging out of the room and toward the stairs, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

Lance hangs back, shouting at them to be careful going down the stairs and not to run. He falls into step beside Keith. They walk slowly down the stairs, hearing the kids’ voices echo up and all around them in the stairwell. The silence stretches between them, but Keith can’t tell if it’s awkward or comfortable.

Then he feels a touch against his hand, stiffens as long, warm fingers hesitantly slide down his wrist, across his palm, gently prying open his fingers before slipping between them. Lance squeezes his hand before relaxing, not pulling away and letting their hands hang, fingers loosely intertwined.

“Thanks,” He says, soft and full of far too much emotion that Keith doesn’t want to name.

He doesn’t know if Lance is thanking him for a productive practice. Or if he’s thanking him for being okay that the kids were there. Or if he’s thanking him for helping Maria.

He doesn’t know.

But as he turns to look at Lance, sees the expression on his face, so gentle and open and depths of dangerous emotion in his eyes, Keith knows one thing for certain:

He really fucking likes Lance.

 

* * *

 

 **vive la lance** has created a new group chat: **“Titanic Take Me”**

 **vive la lance** has added **uptown hunk** and **coo coo motherfuckers**

 **vive la lance** : you guys know the movie titanic?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes, lance, I’ve been alive in the past twenty years  
**vive la lance** : just making sure you didnt live under a rock  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh, I do, but usually things as big as titanic find their way under here  
**uptown hunk** : oh man, you’re not about to suggest we watch it, are you?  
**uptown hunk** : that movie ALWAYS makes me cry  
**uptown hunk** : right at the scene where the mom tucks the kids into bed to die  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : same  
**vive la lance** : I didnt know you were even capable of crying  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it’s been known to happen  
**vive la lance** : Ill believe it when I see it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I hope that never happens  
**vive la lance** : hey! Im GREAT at handling criers. I give the BEST comfort hugs  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : p sure that’s hunk  
**vive la lance** : shit u rite  
**vive la lance** : second best***  
**uptown hunk** : I bet shiro gives good hugs  
**vive la lance** : fuck I bet he does  
**vive la lance** : big ol’ ripped bara teddy bear hugs  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : 1) he does, can confirm  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : 2) never call him a bara again  
**vive la lance** : but he IS  
**vive la lance** : I would bury my face in his bara titties  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : blocked  
**uptown hunk** : hard same  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : blockedx2 combo  
**uptown hunk** : come on, it’s not often that I meet a man who can envelop me in a loving embrace  
**uptown hunk** : let me rest on that man’s soft, pillow like titties  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : fair  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : still blocked  
**vive la lance** : bro embrace  
**vive la lance** : brobrace  
**uptown hunk** : a bro hug  
**uptown hunk** : a bug  
**vive la lance** : my favorite kind of insect  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so was there a reason you brought up titanic? before we delve too far down the bro rabbit hole?  
**uptown hunk** : the brobbit bole  
**vive la lance** : RIGHT  
**vive la lance** : okay so you know in titanic when the boat is going ass side up and that one guy falls and breaks his fucking legs on the propeller then goes into a 360 spin like 15 times before hitting the freezing water face first?  
**uptown hunk** : of course  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that’s my fav part  
**vive la lance** : thats me  
**vive la lance** : thats a metaphor for my life  
**vive la lance** : Im in too deep  
**vive la lance** : Im drowning  
**vive la lance** : titanic take me  
**uptown hunk** : oh no  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh geez  
**uptown hunk** : what happened, buddy?  
**vive la lance** : KEITH  
**vive la lance** : KEITH HAPPENED  
**uptown hunk** : ah  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : of course  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it’s alWAYS keith  
**vive la lance** : stfu its not ALWAYS keith

  
**coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image  
**coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image  
**coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image

  
**vive la lance** : STOP

  
**coo coo motherfuckers** has sent an image  
**uptown hunk** has sent an image  
**uptown hunk** has sent an image  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : has sent an image  
**uptown hunk** has sent an image

  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : need any more screenshots?  
**vive la lance** : CHOKE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it’s always about keith lately  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t remember the last time you complained about something that wasn’t keith related  
**uptown hunk** : is this about your routine?  
**vive la lance** : no  
**vive la lance** : yes?  
**vive la lance** : kiiinda???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : articulate  
**uptown hunk** : I thought you fixed things between you two? or did I imagine that?  
**uptown hunk** : was that a fever dream?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you didn’t imagine it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lance rambled to us the night after they patched things up  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it was taco night and he was so caught up in talking about it that he cut his finger while cutting onions  
**uptown hunk** : RIGHT  
**uptown hunk** : cool  
**uptown hunk** : well not cool that you cut yourself, but like, cool that I didn’t imagine that, and cool that you guys patched things up  
**uptown hunk** : but if you already fixed it, what’s the problem now?  
**vive la lance** : EVERYTHINGGGG  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : mood  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but really, if you want our help, which I assume you do seeing as you’re telling us this HERE and not in the group chat  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re gonna need to be a little more specific  
**vive la lance** : Im losing control of my life  
**vive la lance** : I think  
**vive la lance** : I think I have a crush on keith  
**vive la lance** : no scratch that  
**vive la lance** : I DO have a crush on keith  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ……  
**uptown hunk** : ……….  
**vive la lance** : guys? come on this is serious  
**uptown hunk** : I  
**uptown hunk** : I can’t believe this  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : holy fuck  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : holy fucking shIT  
**vive la lance** : riGHT??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : HUNK HE’S ACTUALLY ADMITTING IT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : SCREENSHOT THIS BEFORE HE DELETES IT  
**uptown hunk** : ALREADY ON IT  
**vive la lance** : GUYS WHAT THE FUCK  
**uptown hunk** : lance, we’re your best friends, we’ve known you’ve had a crush on keith for a while now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re not exactly subtle about it  
**uptown hunk** : I’m just glad that you’re finally able to admit it :’)  
**uptown hunk** : I’m proud of you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : same  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I was pretty sure this was going to be another shiro/allura situation  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : glad it’s not, I’m not sure I could be gentle with you idiots  
**vive la lance** : what the fuck do you mean you’ve known for A WHILE??  
**vive la lance** : this is a new thing!!  
**uptown hunk** : mhmmm  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : mhMMMMM  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : baby steps  
**uptown hunk** : pidge, let him have this, you know he comes to terms with things in his own time  
**vive la lance** : you know what this conversation is cancelled  
**uptown hunk** : lance, come back!  
**uptown hunk** : gush to us about your crush!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dear god, no  
**vive la lance** : BYE

 

* * *

 

 **fuck off** has started a new conversation with **coo coo motherfuckers**

 **fuck off** : pidge I need a favor  
**fuck off** : but you can’t ask questions  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : mmmmmm  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : suspicious, kogane, very suspicious  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but I’m curious, so I’ll bite  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but it’ll cost you  
**fuck off** : don’t you owe me a favor?  
**fuck off** : I’m pretty sure you owe me a favor  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nice try, keith, but I keep a running tally of all favored owed and received  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : right now we’re on neutral ground  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : care to go into debt? :)  
**fuck off** : …  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : :))  
**fuck off** : …..  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : :))))))  
**fuck off** : ugh fine  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : excellent  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so what can I do you for?  
**fuck off** : have you pulled the footage from the other day?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what footage?  
**fuck off** : from altea  
**fuck off** : from my freestyle lesson with lance  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : is that what this is about?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dude, no, I didn’t pull it  
**fuck off** : but… you said…?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, I said I was going to because I was teasing you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I didn’t mean it though  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I may be an ass sometimes, but this was a big deal to you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m not gonna pull footage to make fun of you when you’re finally getting out of your comfort zone and trying  
**fuck off** : …  
**fuck off** : wow  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what  
**fuck off** : nothing, that’s just… not what I expected  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you have so little faith in me  
**fuck off** : who are you and what have you done with pidge?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ha  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ha  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : funny  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m busting a gut over here  
**fuck off** : you’re getting soft  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay, I resent that  
**fuck off** : it’s not bad thing!  
**fuck off** : I think… our friends are making me soft too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah…  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : they do that  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so was that what you were worried about?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : cause I’m not gonna go around sharing it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I don’t care about how good or bad you are as long as you come to the dance off with us  
**fuck off** : I  
**fuck off** : appreciate that  
**fuck off** : a lot  
**fuck off** : thanks pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : np, keith, it’s what friends are for  
**fuck off** : but that’s… not actually the favor I was going to ask  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : consider my interest piqued  
**fuck off** : I was wondering how easy it would be for you to hack into the security system at the studio  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : very easy  
**fuck off** : and access the video archive?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : again, easy  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : do you… WANT me to pull the video?  
**fuck off** : not exactly  
**fuck off** : I want you to delete it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : wow, that bad, huh?  
**fuck off** : can you do it?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : CAN I? yes, easily  
**fuck off** : WILL you?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : well, since you asked so nicely  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I suppose I can look into it  
**fuck off** : and don’t watch it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what?  
**fuck off** : don’t watch it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : let me get this straight  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you want me to go into the studio’s archives  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : find a video from a practice several days ago  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : a video, which, might I add, no one will probably ever see because no one really goes back to watch the security vids unless they have to  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : delete said video  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and you expect me to do this WITHOUT giving into the temptation to watch it to find out whatever embarrassing nugget has your panties in a twist  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : is that correct?  
**fuck off** : yeah  
**fuck off** : that’s pretty much it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and you still want me to, despite me saying that no one really ever goes back to look at them?  
**fuck off** : yeah  
**fuck off** : I’d rather be safe than sorry  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : this must be pretty bad  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : do you beef it?  
**fuck off** : WHAT?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you know, like fall on your face or something  
**fuck off** : oh  
**fuck off** : no  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what did you think I meant?  
**fuck off** : nothing  
**fuck off** : so will you do it?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes, but you owe me two favors  
**fuck off** : what? why?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : one for deleting the video and one for not watching it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and I’m cashing in one rn  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I want a 20 piece nugget meal from mcdonald’s  
**fuck off** : now?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m ass deep in research for my thesis  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m running on five cups of shitty cheap coffee from our busted ass coffee maker  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : all I’ve eaten today was a half thawed waffle  
**fuck off** : half thawed?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes, I was impatient, don’t interrupt  
**fuck off** : sorry  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : after this, I have assignments to grade for the class I TA for, and Hunk has a late lab tonight so he won’t be here to feed me anytime soon  
**fuck off** : how are you a functional person?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m toeing the line, Keith  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : toeing the line  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : point is, I want some gotdam nuggs before I go insane, so you gonna hook me up or what?  
**fuck off** : fine, I’ll leave in 20  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sweet  
**fuck off** : how soon can you delete the video?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’ll do it now, shouldn’t take long  
**fuck off** : thanks pidge  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : np

 

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : OH  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : OH MY GOD  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : KEITH WHAT THE FUCK  
**fuck off** : what?  
**fuck off** : oh no  
**fuck off** : you watched the video  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : OF COURSE I WATCHED THE VIDEO  
**fuck off** : YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I KNOW, BUT YOU CAN’T DANGLE THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF ME AND EXPECT ME NOT TO BE CURIOUS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m a sCIENTIST, keTIH!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : curiosity is what we dO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : It leads to discovery and all that shit!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : AND I DID NOT WANT TO DISCOVER THIS  
**fuck off** : I TOLD YOU NOT TO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I kNOW, but did you really expect me to liSTEN??  
**fuck off** : I was hoping you would!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : well, now we both learned a fucking lesson then  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I can’t believe you made me fucking watch that  
**fuck off** : I didn’t make you do anything!  
**fuck off** : I TOLD YOU NOT TO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m scarred for life  
**fuck off** : did you watch the whole thing?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : FUCK NO  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : BUT I SAW ENOUGH TO GET THE IDEA  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : how long has this been going on??  
**fuck off** : I don’t know  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you don’t kNOW???  
**fuck off** : weeks?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : WEEKS!  
**fuck off** : you really had no idea?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nO!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, you two flirt all the fucking time and the sexual tension is thick enough to choke a man, but jfc it’s this far along alreaDY??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’ve got some explaining to do, kogane  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I want a sundae with my nuggs now, extra fudge  
**fuck off** : you watched it! I don’t owe you anything  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you owe me for pain and suffering  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and if you want me to keep this a secret  
**fuck off** : fine  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : good, now get your ass over here

 

* * *

 

Group Chat: **“Titanic Take Me”**

 **vive la lance** : GUYS  
**vive la lance** : I’M GOING TO FUCKING DIE  
**vive la lance** : where tf are you  
**vive la lance** : omg youre both busy arent you?  
**vive la lance** : holy fuck this is the time where you both have labs isnt it?  
**vive la lance** : FUCK  
**vive la lance** : guys I need you  
**vive la lance** : I made a mistake  
**vive la lance** : two mistakes  
**vive la lance** : maybe three  
**vive la lance** : one I convinced keith to get snapchat  
**vive la lance** : two I accidentally started a conversation with him NOW when hes at the GYM and now hes sending me SWEATY GYM SELFIES  
**vive la lance** : three I SENT HIM ONE BACK OF ME SHIRTLESS BC I DECIDED THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA????  
**vive la lance** : I DONT KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH ME  
**vive la lance** : KEITH MAKES MY BRAIN ALL FUZZY AND I STOP MAKING GOOD DECISIONS  
**vive la lance** : HE HASN’T REPLIED IN LIKE FIFTEEN MINUTES AND IM FREAKING OUT  
**vive la lance** : OH MY GOD HE JUST SENT ME ONE BACK  
**vive la lance** : I JUST SAW THE NOTIF  
**vive la lance** : IM TOO SCARED TO OKAY IT  
**vive la lance** : okay okay Im gonna do it  
**vive la lance** : fuCK  
**vive la lance** : ITS A PIC OF HIM SMILING AND IT JUST SAYS “cute”  
**vive la lance** : this boy is going to be the fucking death of me  
**vive la lance** : scratch that im already dying  
**vive la lance** : guys come back im having a crisis  
**vive la lance** : hes too pretty and its fucking with my head  
**vive la lance** : hes pretty and perfect and funny and kind and an asshole and oh god  
**vive la lance** : I didnt mean for this to happen  
**vive la lance** : idk what to do  
**vive la lance** : oh god I feel sick  
**vive la lance** : fuck can one of you call me like asap? please  
**vive la lance** : not a drill  
**vive la lance** : code white

 

 **vive la lance** : thanks for calling me earlier buddy  
**vive la lance** : sorry about that and being a mess and stuff  
**vive la lance** : and you know dragging you out of class  
**uptown hunk** : dude, it’s fine  
**uptown hunk** : you needed me, and that’s what friends are for  
**uptown hunk** : everyone just thought I was in the bathroom for like… fifteen minutes  
**uptown hunk** : my professor gave me a really sympathetic look when I came back  
**vive la lance** : I shouldNT lauGH at that but I aM Im sorry buDDY  
**uptown hunk** : lmao no offense taken  
**uptown hunk** : it wAS pretty funny  
**uptown hunk** : seriously tho, buddy, you doing alright?  
**vive la lance** : better yeah  
**vive la lance** : sorry about that  
**vive la lance** : I didnt mean to get that worked up about it  
**uptown hunk** : no problem, dude, really  
**uptown hunk** : but like, now that you’ve calmed down, can I say something about it?  
**vive la lance** : I guess  
**uptown hunk** : is it really such a bad thing that you have a crush on keith?  
**vive la lance** : yes  
**vive la lance** : it’s terrible  
**uptown hunk** : but wHY?  
**vive la lance** : cause it juST  
**vive la lance** : IS  
**vive la lance** : what we have right now is NICE  
**vive la lance** : I liKE what we have  
**vive la lance** : its not messy  
**vive la lance** : FEELINGS are messy  
**uptown hunk** : hate to break it to you, buddy, but it already sounds messy  
**vive la lance** : yeah but  
**vive la lance** : UGH  
**uptown hunk** : okay how about this, would it make you HAPPIER if you guys were together? Like, ACTUALLY together?  
**vive la lance** : I mean… yeah  
**vive la lance** : yeah probably  
**vive la lance** : definitely  
**vive la lance** : but it’s not the simPLE hunk  
**uptown hunk** : why not?  
**vive la lance** : it’s just  
**vive la lance** : nOT  
**vive la lance** : what if he doesnt feel the same way? what if hed rather just be friends with benefits? things would get awkWARD after that. maybe just stop altogether. I dont want to lose what we have just because I cant keep my emotions in check  
**uptown hunk** : wait  
**uptown hunk** : you guys are fRIENDS WITH BENEFITS???  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**vive la lance** : uh  
**vive la lance** : not the point hunk  
**uptown hunk** : okay, okay, for the sake of keeping this conversation going, I’m going to save this for later, but you’re not off the hook  
**uptown hunk** : you have a lot of explaining to do  
**vive la lance** : uuuuuuugh  
**uptown hunk** : I’ll make you cookies while you talk  
**vive la lance** : you got a deal  
**uptown hunk** : but back to the point, just judging from the way you guys act around each other, I don’t think it’s that far fetched to think he might like you back  
**uptown hunk** : especially if you guys are already friends with benefits????  
**vive la lance** : but what if he doeSNT  
**uptown hunk** : but what if he DOES  
**vive la lance** : I dont want to ruin things hunk  
**vive la lance** : regionals is only a couple months away  
**vive la lance** : if things get awkward our dancing could suffer for it  
**vive la lance** : this means a LOT to me and doing well at regionals could jump start my dancing career  
**vive la lance** : I really dont want to throw that away for feelings  
**vive la lance** : not again  
**uptown hunk** : lance, keith is NOT nyma  
**vive la lance** : I know but  
**uptown hunk** : no but’s  
**uptown hunk** : I got VIBES from nyma  
**uptown hunk** : I don’t get vibes from keith  
**vive la lance** : I know the situation is different, but the principle is the same  
**vive la lance** : I gave up a shot at being in an ACTUAL DANCE TROUPE  
**vive la lance** : and I gave it up to stay in town with nyma  
**vive la lance** : only for HER to take the opportunity insTEAD  
**vive la lance** : I put myself on the back burner for her because I thought what we had was real  
**vive la lance** : and that turned out great  
**uptown hunk** : what she did was shitty, lance, but we’ve talked about this and keith isn’t nyma  
**uptown hunk** : as long as you guys actually TALK about it and are on the same page, I don’t think there’ll be a problem  
**vive la lance** : I had a casual fling with nyma and it blew up in my face  
**vive la lance** : whats to stop that from happening with keith  
**uptown hunk** : because with nyma, you assumed it was deeper and she didn’t. that is EXACTLY why you should talk to keith about it so you guys can be on the same page  
**vive la lance** : or I can just not assume its something more than it is and we wont have a problem  
**uptown hunk** : but it COULD be deeper  
**vive la lance** : or it could ruin EVERYTHING  
**uptown hunk** : lance  
**uptown hunk** : I love you  
**uptown hunk** : but you need to stop hiding  
**uptown hunk** : it’s clear to anyone with EYES that you guys care about each other  
**uptown hunk** : I don’t want to see you ruin your chances with happiness just because someone hurt you in the past  
**vive la lance** : im not im just  
**vive la lance** : cautious  
**uptown hunk** : I know, buddy  
**uptown hunk** : but no risk, no reward  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh my god  
**vive la lance** : henlo pidge  
**vive la lance** : welcome to the lance crisis center  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah I can fucking see that  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I got out of class to find a million and five messages waiting for me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : it took me 84 years to read through them  
**uptown hunk** : pidge, btw, wanna meet on campus for lunch?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, pizza?  
**uptown hunk** : the one by the library or the one in the main cafeteria?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : library definitely  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the other one is balls like 50% of the time  
**uptown hunk** : truth  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m glad you were able to calm lance down, and I’m glad lance is feeling better  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sorry I didn’t see it in time to help  
**vive la lance** : thanks pidge  
**vive la lance** : its no problem really  
**vive la lance** : hunk saw it and Im good now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that being said, I can’t believe you’re head over fucking heels for keith’s flat ass  
**vive la lance** : KEITHS  
**vive la lance** : ASS  
**vive la lance** : IS  
**vive la lance** : NOT  
**vive la lance** : FLAT  
**vive la lance** : -an autobiography  
**uptown hunk** : I love that YOUR autobiography, meaning a biography about YOURSELF, is mostly about keith’s ass  
**vive la lance** : what can I say  
**vive la lance** : I cant let pidge spread lies  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : thanks for proving my point  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I also wanted to say that I REALLY don’t think you have anything to worry about and I HIGHLY encourage you to listen to hunk  
**vive la lance** : that’s… suspiciously encouraging  
**vive la lance** : what do you know?  
**vive la lance** : wait a second you weren’t surprised by the friends with benefits thing  
**uptown hunk** : still a subject we need to have a talk about  
**uptown hunk** : just saying  
**uptown hunk** : I’m still kind of freaking out about that and I’m keeping myself in check for your sake  
**vive la lance** : appreciated buddy  
**vive la lance** : pidge explain yourself  
**vive la lance** : has keith talked to you about this?  
**vive la lance** : oh my god he has hasn’t he?  
**vive la lance** : what did he say?  
**vive la lance** : WHAT DO YOU KNOW??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know a lot of things  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know that the average airspeed velocity of an unladen European swallow is about twenty four mph  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know that alligators can’t run in zig zags  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know that there is enough dna in an average person’s body to stretch from the sun to pluto and back seventeen times  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know that the sky is blue and water is wet and hunk is late for lunch  
**uptown hunk** : sorry! there was a really cute dog on campus and I got to pet her  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : acceptable  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I also know that there is VERY LITTLE REASON for you to be nervous about your feelings, lance, and that you SHOULD PROBABLY TELL KEITH ABOUT THEM  
**vive la lance** : …  
**vive la lance** : I have questions  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sorry, i can’t hear you, bad connection, I’m going through a tunnel, gotta go have lunch, bye  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE  
**vive la lance** : PIDGE GET BACK HERE  
**vive la lance** : OH MY GOD

 

* * *

 

 **LLunarGoddess** has created a new group chat: **“KEEEIIITHHH”**

 **LLunarGoddess** has added **fuck off** and **Need-A-Hand**

 **LLunarGoddess** : KeITHHHH  
**LLunarGoddess** : where are yoy!  
**LLunarGoddess** : are very  
**LLunarGoddess** : YOU  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, I am so sorry  
**LLunarGoddess** : shhhHHHHHHUT IT  
**LLunarGoddess** : we’re havinb converdations  
**fuck off** : what  
**fuck off** : is happening right now  
**LLunarGoddess** : Iv’e had alittle to mjcuh to drinky  
**fuck off** : … what  
**LLunarGoddess** : this isr okay thos  
**LLunarGoddess** : can yo usersstand me?  
**fuck off** : um… I think so?  
**LLunarGoddess** : good!  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m so sorry  
**fuck off** : what’s going on?  
**Need-A-Hand** : We were at the bar with some coworkers, and Allura’s had a little too much to drink, and now she’s hiding in the women’s restroom where I can’t follow her to take away her phone  
**fuck off** : gotcha  
**Need-A-Hand** : Unfortunately, she got into a shot contest with one of the others, and she goes hard  
**fuck off** : are you not drinking?  
**Need-A-Hand** : No, I’m the DD  
**fuck off** : ah  
**LLunarGoddess** : im not hard!  
**LLunarGoddess** : im sa;l way swof t  
**LLunarGoddess** : i’m always soft  
**LLunarGoddess** : t]]wow  
**LLunarGoddess** : that was good  
**LLunarGoddess** : that was as stentcne  
**fuck off** : I should really screenshot all of this for pidge and lance  
**LLunarGoddess** : noooooooooooo  
**LLunarGoddess** : y97ucant yse that agaisnt me  
**LLunarGoddess** : fuck  
**LLunarGoddess** : i shoult go bak soom  
**Need-A-Hand** : Yes, please come back and drink some water  
**fuck off** : please don’t let her have anymore drinks  
**Need-A-Hand** : Wasn’t planning on it  
**LLunarGoddess** : I’bntos gonna do tat tongit  
**LLunarGoddess** : i gotta cuction funciton toorrow  
**fuck off** : cuction funciton?  
**Need-A-Hand** : cuction funciton  
**fuck off** : lance will kill me if I don’t screenshot this for him  
**LLunarGoddess** : sppeakinf of LANCE!!!  
**Need-A-Hand** : Oh no  
**Need-A-Hand** : Allura, please leave him alone  
**LLunarGoddess** : NO! he heped us we shoild helo him!  
**fuck off** : uhhh  
**fuck off** : siro?  
**LLunarGoddess** : SIRO  
**Need-A-Hand** : Please just leave the conversation  
**LLunarGoddess** : NO!  
**LLunarGoddess** : STAY!  
**LLunarGoddess** : ok ok ol oi ok  
**LLunarGoddess** : kieth  
**LLunarGoddess** : shirt nd I were takling  
**LLunarGoddess** : do u lik lace?????  
**fuck off** : uh  
**fuck off** : I’m… pretty indifferent about lace?  
**LLunarGoddess** : noooooo  
**LLunarGoddess** : stupif PHONE  
**LLunarGoddess** : LANCE  
**LLunarGoddess** : DO  
**LLunarGoddess** : YOU  
**LLunarGoddess** : LIKE  
**LLunarGoddess** : LANCE  
**LLunarGoddess** : NOT LACE  
**LLunarGoddess** : naikf it  
**LLunarGoddess** : FUCK  
**LLunarGoddess** : …..  
**LLunarGoddess** : keith??  
**LLunarGoddess** : KIETH??  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh no :(  
**LLunarGoddess** : bby com bak  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith?  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m sorry about springing this on you  
**Need-A-Hand** : We were just talking about it, and Allura insisted we just ask you, and she ran off to the bathroom before I could take her phone from her  
**LLunarGoddess** : I jut wantedd to hep :((((  
**Need-A-Hand** : I don’t think ambushing him while you’re drunk is helping, babe  
**LLunarGoddess** : ………  
**LLunarGoddess** : poiint  
**LLunarGoddess** : butt now wer’e here  
**LLunarGoddess** : keef pls com back :((  
**fuck off** : I’m here  
**LLunarGoddess** : !!!!!!!!!!!  
**LLunarGoddess** : sooooooo????  
**Need-A-Hand** : You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Keith  
**LLunarGoddess** : shirro butt out >:((  
**fuck off** : what brought this up?  
**LLunarGoddess** : we hafw as beg  
**fuck off** : shiro?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Somehow we got on the topic of you and Lance, and Allura said she bet you liked him and then ran off before I could stop her  
**Need-A-Hand** : I TOLD her that she shouldn’t push you and that you’d come to us when you wanted to  
**fuck off** : is it… really that obvious?  
**Need-A-Hand** : … Kinda?  
**Need-A-Hand** : You don’t really DO subtle, not when someone knows you well enough to read you  
**LLunarGoddess** : u gusy are so cuRE  
**LLunarGoddess** : cute********  
**Need-A-Hand** : So… does that mean you dO like Lance?  
**fuck off** : please don’t say anything  
**LLunarGoddess** : AWWWWWWWWWWW  
**Need-A-Hand** : We won’t, don’t worry  
**Need-A-Hand** : Are you going to do anything about it?  
**fuck off** : I… don’t know  
**Need-A-Hand** : I think you should  
**fuck off** : you’re not really a great example of telling someone how you feel shiro  
**LLunarGoddess** : oOOOOO BURNT  
**LLunarGoddess** : bun  
**LLunarGoddess** : bunt  
**LLunarGoddess** : FUCK  
**LLunarGoddess** : BURN  
**LLunarGoddess** : there we got  
**fuck off** : you’re just as bad  
**LLunarGoddess** : rude >>:(  
**Need-A-Hand** : I know we’re not, but I still think you should tell him  
**fuck off** : that sounds like a terrible idea  
**Need-A-Hand** : What’s the worst that could happen?  
**fuck off** : he could not feel the same way  
**fuck off** : things could get really awkward  
**fuck off** : he could start treating me differently  
**fuck off** : everything we’ve worked for as dance partners could be ruined  
**fuck off** : we crash an burn at regionals  
**Need-A-Hand** : Okaaaay, point taken  
**Need-A-Hand** : But  
**Need-A-Hand** : What if he DOES like you, too?  
**fuck off** : that’s… just as frightening  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh keef :((((  
**Need-A-Hand** : It’ll give you that  
**Need-A-Hand** : Allowing yourself to be vulnerable to another person is terrifying  
**Need-A-Hand** : But it’s also exhilarating, and it’s worth the risk  
**LLunarGoddess** : awww babe :’)))  
**LLunarGoddess** : ily  
**LLunarGoddess** : OH  
**LLunarGoddess** : I found some gunning in my purse  
**LLunarGoddess** : gummies  
**LLunarGoddess** : god they taste so good after gross shif  
**Need-A-Hand** : I really don’t think you have anything to worry about  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’ve seen how Lance looks at you, especially when he thinks no one is paying attention  
**fuck off** : really?  
**Need-A-Hand** : I wouldn’t push you to do something that would hurt you, Keith  
**Need-A-Hand** : Trust me?  
**fuck off** : okay but  
**fuck off** : idk  
**fuck off** : telling him could just… ruin everything  
**Need-A-Hand** : It’ll certainly change things  
**Need-A-Hand** : But… change isn’t always a bad thing  
**fuck off** : I guess…  
**Need-A-Hand** : Just… think about it, okay?  
**Need-A-Hand** : You don’t need to make a decision right now  
**fuck off** : okay  
**LLunarGoddess** : shirooooooo  
**LLunarGoddess** : idk if I can walkj  
**LLunarGoddess** : can yoy meat me by the bath rome door? :(  
**Need-A-Hand** : Coming  
**Need-A-Hand** : We’ll talk later, okay, Keith?  
**fuck off** : okay  
**Need-A-Hand** : And sorry again for all this  
**LLunarGoddess** : sory ke96h :(  
**LLunarGoddess** : kie5h  
**LLunarGoddess** : keity  
**LLunarGoddess** : i love hyou sugys so much  
**LLunarGoddess** : my finers are not reasponding  
**fuck off** : go drink some water, allura  
**LLunarGoddess** : yessir

 

* * *

 

“Pidge, you have the boniest ass known to man.” Lance complains, jabbing them in the side to get them to move a little to the side. This proves to be a mistake as they jump and elbow him in the chest. “ _Ow!_ ”

“You’re one to talk,” They grumble, and he can _hear_ the roll of their eyes.

“I do _not_ have a boney ass!”

“You kinda do, buddy.” Hunk says from the front passenger seat, and Lance gasps.

“I’ve lost circulation in my legs before from Lance sitting on my lap.” Allura adds from her perch on Shiro’s lap on the other side of the backseat.

“ _Betrayal!_ ” His eyes narrow as he catches sight of Keith’s smirk. He can tell he’s trying hard to keep it down, but it isn’t exactly working. “I don’t need your sass, _Keith_.”

Keith glances at him sideways without really moving his head, lips quirking just a fraction more. Lance is embarrassed by how his heart rate picks up from something so simple. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Their driving situation is less than ideal. Pidge wasn’t able to get ahold of their parents’ van like the last time they had gone to the club, so they had to make do. They _could_ have gone in separate cars, but it had become somewhat of a tradition to carpool together. Team vibes or something. It usually wasn’t _too_ big of a deal, but they had one extra body this time around.

And to be honest, it’s _still_ not a big deal. It’s just... not the deal that Lance was hoping for.

What he was _hoping_ for was to get Keith on his lap. Unfortunately, he couldn’t _get_ that without arousing suspicion among their group. Pidge, being the smallest, is obviously the first choice for lap sitting. Then Shiro and Allura are dating, so it only makes sense that she would take Shiro’s lap. Which means there’s no reason for Keith to be on his lap unless he _wants_ him to be.

Which... he does. But he’s not about to say that aloud or make a big deal of it.

Especially not now that Pidge and Hunk _know_ how he feels. He doesn’t want to sit through a car ride with boner fuel on his lap _and_ his friends sending amused looks his way.

So maybe it’s better this way, but he’s not exactly _happy_ that he got the gremlin in his lap instead of his hot sort-of-friends-with-benefits-but-also-crush-but-he-doesn’t-know-how-to-tell-him-because-that-could-ruin-everything-and-he-doesn’t-want-to-ruin-friendship-or-parntership-and— oh god, he’s a mess.

“Nearly there, lads!” Coran announces, taking a turn down the road where the warehouse is. “Everyone ready to destroy the competition?”

Lance straightens up, grin spreading his lips. “We should change our team name to _Voretron_ cause we’re about to _devour_ the competition!”

The car is filled with a pleasant mix of groans and snickers that has Lance preening.

“Lance, _no_.” Hunk says.

To which Pidge follows up with an excited. “Lance, _yes_.”

“I take back every negative thing I said about your boney ass.” Lance says, exchanging a fist bump with Pidge.

“We are _not_ calling ourselves that.” Shiro says, but Allura is hiding a smile behind her hand from her perch on his lap.

Keith hasn’t said anything yet, so Lance nudges him with his elbow. He’s nestled into the middle seat in the back, pressed up nicely to Lance’s side and thigh. “What’d you think, Keith?” He prompts, mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Keith rolls his eyes, but there’s a shadow of a smile on his lips, and even though he says, “I think you’re an idiot,” It’s said in a way that feels far more fond than he probably intended.

“You know,” Coran says from the driver’s seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they wait at a red light. “Back in my day, we just called it cannibalism.”

When the light turns green, it’s only twenty more seconds before they’re pulling into the parking lot. It’s crowded, but they find a spot near the back. As soon as they’re parked, Lance unlocked the door and throws it open, nearly toppling Pidge out the door. They manage to catch themselves, but flip Lance off as they stand. He just grins, unfolding himself from the backseat and stepping out onto the pavement.

Stretching his arms high above his head, a smile playing on his lips, he looks around. Cars are sill pulling up to the parking lot, and there’s a steady stream of people headed toward the building. There’s a wide variety of dress going on. A lot are dressed like a regular club night, others are dressed clearly for dance. A smaller few are dressed in somewhat matching outfits.

Other teams, much like them, who like having the feel of a unified aesthetic.

Their own aesthetic is simple. Everyone is dressed in black with highlights of their selected colors in the form of a wide set V on their shirts and a bandana tied somewhere on their person. The finishing touches are the little V’s of face paint drawn on below each eye in their individual colors.

Lance himself is wearing his favorite solid black harem pants, his bright blue bandana tied above the knee on his right leg. His tank top is black and tight, showing off his arms and lean chest, a wide blue V printed across the front of it. He feels good, and he knows he _looks_ good.

And when he caught Keith checking him out before they piled into the car? Icing on the cake.

Keith isn’t really playing fair himself. His shirt is a simple, form fitting v-neck, a wide red V printed across the front, and his red bandana tied around his wrist. His pants, however, are what are the current source of Lance’s pleasure and suffering. They’re black, tight, and have horizontal rips up the length of the front, from shin to thigh, letting little slits of his pale skin peek through. It’s too damn much for Lance’s poor heart to take.

“Man, I’ve missed this place.” Hunk says, coming to stand next to Lance, hands on his hips as he looks across the parking lot at the building. Hunk has on loose sweat pants and a sleeveless tunic shirt with a few stylistic rips, hem falling just below his hips. His bright yellow bandana is tied around his forehead, taking the place of his usual favorite headbands.

“You sure you weren’t just missing a certain tall, curvy, bodacious babe?” Lance says slyly, elbowing Hunk’s side.

Hunk tries to frown. He really does. Lance can see the effort he makes. But he just can’t hold back his smile as he lightly shoves Lance away. “Yeah,” He says. “Maybe that, too.”

“She’s been all he’s been able to talk about since she got back from studying abroad.” Pidge says, sliding up on Hunk’s other side, arms crossed over their chest. They tilt their head to the side, thoughtful look on their face. “Actually, no, he talked about her a lot _before_ then, too, but it’s only gotten worse.”

Pidge, like the rest of them, is dressed in all black. Their loose cargo shorts reach nearly halfway down their shins. Their shirt has short sleeves and a wide green V across the front, but the bottom half of it has been messily cut off, revealing peeks of their thin waist and well defined abs. Their bandana is tied around their upper arm, extra fabric sticking out and looking almost like green rabbit ears.

“Oooo, are we talking about Shay?” Allura says, popping up between Lance and Hunk, forcing Lance to step away to make room. She drapes her arms around Hunk’s shoulders, leaning her cheek against his arm as she sighs happily. “I love that girl. I hope her study trip was good.” She pokes him roughly in the side. “You should bring her around more.”

Allura’s silver hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, causing it to cascade in heavy waves down her back, shifting with every movement of her head. Her yoga pants cling to her hips and thighs, flaring out around her calves, large pink bandana tied around her waist. Her shirt had once been like Pidge’s, but where Pidge chopped off the bottom half, Allura had taken the scissors to her shirt’s collar, giving it a wider top that clung to her upper arms and left her shoulders exposed. A pink V decorates the front of it.

“Leave the poor boy alone,” Shiro says, a teasing lilt to his voice as he comes up beside them, Keith close to his side.

Shiro’s outfit consisted of his black track pants and a muscle tank that had arm holes wide enough to stretch down his sides, revealing glimpses of a ripped chest to go with his fucking ripped arms. His wide set V is purple, and a purple bandana is tied to his prosthetic arm, right below the elbow joint.

His smile stretched wider, showing teeth as his eyes glinted mischievously. “Though, if you want the name of some good restaurants to take her to to _catch up_ , Allura and I can name a few.”

Allura snickers, burying her smile in Hunk’s arm as he groans, head lolling back. Lance grins, looking around the circle until his eyes settled on Keith. His attention is on Hunk, small smile on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tension there, around his eyes and mouth. His arms are crossed over his chest, clenched fists hidden behind his biceps, shoulders hiked a little too high.

“As much as I do love teasing our dear Hunk about his sweet, young love,” Coran said with a flourish, poking his head into the group. Hunk makes a noise of protest, but Coran ignores him. Dressed in tight black leggings, a long black tunic shirt falling to his thighs, Coran’s V is orange and his orange bandana is tied around his neck. He leans his elbow on Pidge’s head, ignoring their disgruntled noise as he leans his weight onto them. He holds up is other hand, finger extended. “We should really get going. We have to sign in soon if we want a slot in the competition.”

Coran leads the way, and the rest of them fall into step as they weave through the parking lot. Keith, Lance notices, hangs back, head tilted to gaze up at the building, apprehension crawling across his features. Lance pats Hunk’s arm and lets his steps slow, falling back to Keith’s side.

He doesn’t think twice before slinging an arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him to his side in a gesture that could easily be seen as friendly had it not been for the way Keith seems to melt against him. That, and the erratic slam of his heart against his rib cage when it happens.

“What’s shakin’, Claus Jepsen?”

Keith tilts his head toward him, lips pursed into that little frown that Lance is growing incredibly fond of. “Who’s that?”

He shrugs, waving his free hand around vaguely. “Not really sure. Some guy with a mullet.” Keith turns back forward, humming softly. Lance tightens his grip just a fraction, giving him a light shake before relaxing. “You doing alright?” He asks, voice low and private, letting concern leak into his tone.

Keith shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Keith says, lips quirking into a wry smile.

Lance chuckled, leaning toward him to knock their heads together. “You’ll do fine. You’re a lot better than you think you are. Just stop thinking so much about it and just dance.”

He feels Keith take in a deep breath, shoulders rising with it and holding before he lets it out with a shuttering exhale. “I’ll try.”

“You’ve got this. I know you do.” Lance says, confident and sure. He stares at Keith until he glances sideways at him. When he finally makes eye contact, Lance winks, lips curving into a playful smirk. “And if you fuck up, at least you’ll look damn good doing it.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes and shoving Lance off him hard enough to make him stumble sideways, snickering. Keith speeds up, stomping away to walk beside Shiro, but Lance can see the small smile playing across his lips in the fading sunlight.

The Balmeran dance-off is held not too far from the Balmera club. They own a warehouse a couple blocks over and refurbish it for different events. And, for this one, they usually go all out, bringing in a banging stereo system, DJ booth, a whole stage for the dance-off to take place on, tables, chairs, bars, and not to mention the plethora of decorations. They essentially turn the empty warehouse into a club of its own.

The dance-off used to be held once a month. Teams can sign up and participate, and the winners are announced at the end of the night, with prizes for first and second place. And it’s not _just_ about the dance-off. The whole building operates as a club, giving patrons bars, sitting areas, and dance sections to have fun in and relax between official dance battles.

It’s an awesome atmosphere and used to be what Lance looked forward to every month. It was a chance to not only cut loose and relax, but he got to dress up with his friends and they got to dance together as a team. He loves it. The camaraderie. They showmanship. He loves when his friends stand tall and confident together, staring down the competition. It’s all about being in the spotlight and pumping up a crowd, and those are two things that Lance excels at.

He loves it more when they win. Which, given past experience, is quite often. What can he say? Voltron is legendary.

There are two lines leading to two different entrances. They steer past the line by the bigger doors and head for the smaller one off to the side. There’s a sign hanging up outside that says _Team Sign-ups_. They all shuffle in, pressed in close as they try to stand in line with several other teams while simultaneously trying to keep out of the way. They all have to fill out their own forms, passing around clipboards and pens, before passing them all back to Coran to paperclip together with their team form.

They pay the entrance fee, and they’re all given wristbands before being shooed into the club to make way for the next team.

Coran leads the way, Allura at his side, as they cut through the crowd. And boy it is _crowded_. It’s the first dance-off in nearly half a year. Shay had been one of the biggest organizers of the event, and it was basically her idea-baby. It had essentially stopped when she had gone to study abroad. Much to their dismay, but mostly Hunk’s. For different reasons.

They attempt to stick close and follow through the wake left behind Coran and Allura before the crowd closes back up. Shiro sticks close behind them, and Pidge hovers behind his mass, one hand holding onto the back of his shirt. Hunk comes up close behind them, and Lance sticks close to his side. He’s always been good at weaving through a crowd. Being thin and agile helps. Let’s him slip and weave through people with minimal contact and without having to push them aside.

Keith, however, struggles a little bit more. When Lance glances back at him, Keith looks completely overwhelmed. He’s trying to keep up, but his eyes are everywhere, attention drifting and flinching as people get to close, glaring at people who bump into him and shoving others who shove him first. He looks thoroughly disgruntled.

Lance smiles, affection fluttering in his chest. He knows this isn’t really Keith’s thing. Definitely not his crowd. But he’s here anyway because he wants to be. Because he wants to spend time with them. Because he wants to be part of the team.

Taking pity on him, Lance reaches out, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward until he’s situated right behind Hunk, able to use the big guy as a shield and a bulldozer through the crowd. Keith sends him an appreciative look that quickly turns sheepish as he slips his wrist out of Lance’s grip, shifting it so his hand slide’s into Lance’s, fingers hesitantly lacing together.

Lance looks away to hide his smile.

Coran, bless his soul, drags them all to the bar near the back, where the crowds are thinner, and orders seven shots of their best bourbon. The bartender looks at him like he’s growing a second mustache in front of his eyes, eyes bugging out of his head and mouth twisting in confusion. Coran just grins, staring him down and confirms his order. The bartender gives them all questioning looks, but they just shrug and he shrugs back before turning to fill the order.

Coran pays for all seven shots, and Lance chokes when he hears the total before draping himself over Coran’s shoulders and thanking him loudly and dramatically. Coran just hums, amusement tugging at his lips as he pats Lance on the back.

When they all have a shot glass in hand, standing in a loose circle around the bar, Coran lifts his and they all follow suit. “To Voltron, friendship, teamwork, and the spirit of dance!”

They all echo _To Voltron!_ with varying degrees of enthusiasm before downing their shots.

They all take it with different levels of skill. Allura slams her glass down, face twisted and eyes watering but otherwise fine. Shiro coughs once, then looks at his glass, nodding appreciatively. Pidge bends over in a coughing fit with muttered curses while Hunk pats them on the back, coughing a couple times into his hand.

Lance’s throat burns, shot settling warm and pleasant in his stomach even as his mouth twists with the taste. Not really a bourbon fan, but this is a time honored tradition. He makes a face, brows scrunching and dragging his tongue along the roof of his mouth and across his teeth, mouth writhing as he tries to shake it off.

Keith, on the other hand, raises his eyebrows, nods a couple times, smacks his lips, and calmly passes his shot glass to Shiro.

Coran takes the damn thing like a champ, sipping at it calmly and peacefully like he were at a wine tasting.

They still have forty minutes before they had to be in position, and Coran makes sure they knew that before dismissing them. Pidge and Shiro split off from the ground to hunt down Matt, who’s been hired as the DJ for the event. Allura leans up against the bar with Coran. They share a double shot of bourbon on the rocks, both of them sipping at it. Their conversation isn’t private, but it’s at a volume that Lance finds hard to hear over the music unless he’s cozied up next to them.

So he takes up a position next to Hunk, off to the side of the bar. Hunk’s eyes scan the crowd as they talk, and it doesn’t take long for Lance to realize who he’s looking for. At this, a sly smile makes its home on his lips and he leans into his friend, eager to tease but also to help. Hunk takes it all in stride, a light blush coloring his cheeks as he laughs nervously but genuinely.

The warehouse’s floor plan is wide and open. One big room that encompasses everything. There are bars on either end, and tables and chairs set up along the edges. The center of the warehouse is taken up by a large, square raised stage where the dance-off will take place, Matt’s DJ booth nestled off to the side of it. The walls and ceiling are high, and there’s a second floor balcony halfway up, providing more watch points for the competition event.

The entire decoration scheme is much like the Balmera club. The lighting is colored and dim, glowing out from lanterns that hang from the ceiling and look like crystals. More strings of crystal-looking lights, custom made, crawl up pillars and walls around the warehouse. It gives the whole place a cozy vibe, like a wide open cavern. Music idly thumps from the speakers spread out around the building, vibrating through the air and up through the floor.

Lance feels it in the soles of his feet, reverberating throughout his body and chasing his heartbeat onwards. He’s excited. He can feel the anticipation like a buzz in his veins. Like a tangible energy that thrives in the very air of the warehouse. He can feel it against his skin, the excitement, the nerves, the eagerness, the thrill. He’s practically bouncing with it, unable to stand still. His body feels like a coiled wire, tension building, ready to be sprung.

He’s hyped, focus everywhere, awareness sprawled out across the club as he only partly pays attention to his banter with Hunk. It’s natural, comfortable, and superficial anyway, both of them too distracted for anything deeper. His eyes flit across people, colors, lights, drinks, the stage, everything. Unable to latch onto anything in particular before moving on.

Then he feels a presence at his side. A body pressed in close but barely touching, arms drifting across each other as they breathe, sending sparks shooting across his skin. Instantly, his focus snaps into the sensation, abandoning everything else in the club as he turns his head, eyes zeroing in on Keith.

He’s standing close, leaning toward Lance in a way that seems more subconscious than anything. His eyes dart around the club warily, posture uncomfortable and nervous. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and Lance has the ridiculous urge to put his thumb there, to press against it until Keith relaxes and releases it. Then maybe steal a kiss or two.

Instead, he reaches out, stretching his fingers until they catch on Keith’s, curling them again to pull Keith’s hand into his. Keith jerks, head snapping over to stare at Lance with wide, startled eyes. Lance just smiles, small and private as he gives Keith’s fingers a small squeeze. Keith relaxes instantly, abused lip released from his teeth as he offers back an unconvincing and shaky smile. But his shoulder’s relax a little, and Lance counts that as a win.

They look away, but their hands slip more firmly together.

“Hey, buddy, look!” Lance says, leaning into Hunk’s side and elbowing his arm. He points through the crowd. “There she is!”

Hunk’s head whips around so fast that Lance is sure he can hear it crack. His eyes go wide and frantic, posture stiffening. “Where?”

“ _There!_ ” She’s by the stage, standing tall and towering over most. A wide smile is on her face as she talks to a few people in front of her. She has a clipboard in her hands, and a sash across her chest that indicates she’s a judge. “What’re you waiting for, dude? Go say hi!” Lance says, doing what he can to push at his friend with only one arm. Cause he sure as fuck isn’t going to let go of Keith’s hand.

Unfortunately, Hunk isn’t budging an inch, solidly planted and unmoving.

“I— I dunno, Lance. She looks kind of busy—“

“And she’ll be happy to see you so _go_.” He says, jabbing more insistently.

He finally gets Hunk to go, and he watches with a wide grin as Hunk awkwardly shambles through the crowd, looking stiff and nervous as he goes. Lance chuckles, leaning in close enough to whisper in Keith’s ear, breath making some of his hair shift. He can _see_ Keith shiver.

“Wanna take pity on him and help me wingman the big guy? I could use all the help I can get.”

They exchange glances, and Keith is _so close_ and he smells _so good_. Hell, he _looks_ good, too. Looks fucking amazing. And his lips look soft and slightly red from biting him and so, so inviting. The red marks beneath his eyes stand out against his pale skin, but highlight his features in a way that’s _just right_. Lance wants nothing more to drag him off to a corner of the club and touch him, kiss him, feel his body up against his own and make Keith make those little needy noises that Lance loves so much.

But he doesn’t.

If he does, he’s certain they’ll miss the start of the competition.

Later though.

Maybe later.

Keith smirks, slow and small, mischief crinkling his eyes. He squeezes Lance’s hand, tilting his chin up like he just might kiss him, and Lance feels his eyes widen in surprise, heart thumping painfully in his chest. He doesn’t though. Stops just an inch away, perfectly angled but not touching. Lips still curled into that devilishly handsome and infuriating smirk.

“Yeah,” He says, eyes dancing with amusement as Lance just gapes. “Let’s go.” He says, pulling away and tugging Lance into the crowd after Hunk. Lance whines, making sure it’s loud enough for Keith to hear, and he’s rewarded with the pearly, beautiful sound of Keith’s laughter.

 

* * *

 

_”Next up, we have Voltron versus The Blade of Marmora!”_

The crowd cheers, wordless shouts and screams that the referee has to speak over. He holds his hands out to the sides, gesturing to either side of the stage as the two teams pull themselves up and take up their positions.

Lance is the first to the stage, pulling himself up and already waving to the crowd, spinning a little as he does so. Lips spread in a wide grin, he shoots finger guns at a particularly loud group of people. They cheer louder, and Lance laughs. Voltron has a reputation here, and he intends to keep it going. They’re good. They’re personable. They’re fun. And they’re champions.

His friends take to the stage behind him, coming up to stand in a loose and bunched arch. They’re all smiling and waving to the crowd as well. Coran scoops Pidge up onto his shoulders, and he makes wide, throwing kissing gestures with his hands while Pidge raises both fists into the air. A group in the crowd starts a chant of _flex, flex, flex_ , and Hunk and Shiro exchange amused glances before doing just that. The group screams, and they laugh.

The only one not milking it is Keith.

He’s hunched in on himself, looking like he’s trying to hide behind his hair while also attempting to appear nonchalant with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. While Allura moves to the center of the stage to face off in a thrilling game of rock, paper, scissors with the Marmora’s team captain to see who goes first, Lance maneuvers himself to Keith’s side.

“Smile and wave, Keith.” He says, bumping his hip against Keith’s playfully but hard enough to make him stumble and earning himself a small glare. He grins wider, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “Don’t look so miserable.”

“I’m not,” He says, but there are shadows in his eyes as he glances around the warehouse. “It’s just... a lot.”

Lance’s smile softens, and he slings an arm around Keith’s shoulders, leaning into him and propping his other hand up on his hip. He goes for nonchalance, smile never fading, but he lowers his voice so only Keith can hear. “I know, but like I said earlier, you don’t _actually_ have to participate if you don’t want to.”

Keith’s lips purse into a small frown, brows furrowing. Lance is certain he’s _trying_ to scowl, but it’s really nothing more than a pout. “But don’t we lose points if we don’t all dance?”

Lance shrugs. “Yeah, _technically_ , but literally none of us are going to blame you if you don’t feel comfortable enough to. Besides, we can totally carry your sorry ass.” He says, lips quirking into a smirk as he lightly squeezes Keith’s shoulders. “Just hang back, watch us, and if you feel it, jump in. If you don’t, don’t. Simple as that.”

Keith sighs, head turning as he looks around the stage. “I just wish there weren’t so many people...”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” Lance says, snapping his fingers in front of Keith’s face to catch his attention. Keith stares at him, bewildered. Lance holds him with a serious stare. “Look out into that crowd right now and tell me honestly: can you actually see _any_ details?”

It takes him a moment, but his eyes flicker away, scanning over the crowd, brows furrowing. Lance just waits. With all the spotlights on the stage and the otherwise dim atmosphere in the warehouse, they can’t really see much of anything once they’re on the stage. “Not... really.” Keith says, eyes returning to his, face pinched with confusion.

Lance smiles. “ _Exactly_. Up here, it’s easy to ignore everything else except for what’s happening. The crowd is just a noise in the background. Just focus on us, the other dancers, and the timer.” He leans in close, pushing his forehead to Keith’s for just a moment, letting their noses brush. He can hear Keith’s breath hitch, and it makes his chest flutter. “And if all else fails,” He whispers, voice pitched low and playful. “Just look at me.”

He pulls back, sending Keith a wink and biting back a laugh as his face twists up with conflicting expressions.

As Allura rejoins them, Lance pulls his arm back, and Pidge climbs down from Coran’s shoulders.

“Alright, team,” She says, gesturing for them to gather in close. They step into a tight circle, leaning in and putting their arms around each other’s shoulders. Keith looks bewildered for a second, sandwiched between Lance and Shiro, but follows their lead. “They’re going first, so we’ve got twenty five seconds to prepare. I know it’s been a while since we’ve done this, but that’s never stopped us before. Just go with your instincts, trust yourselves, keep an eye on the timer, and have fun.” She sends a very pointed glare his way. “And _try_ not to hog the spotlight.”

Lance grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

“And Keith,” She says, sending the boy at his side a much softer look. “Don’t feel pressured to jump in if you don’t want to. It’s fine to sit out a couple rounds to get the feel of it.”

Keith gives her a weak smile and nods. “Thanks.”

She nods back, eyes darting around the circle. “Everyone ready?” They all nod, and her eyes turn back to Lance, lips quirking up at the edges. “Would you do the honors of leading our chant, Lance?”

His grin is wide enough that he can feel it crinkling his eyes. “Of course.” Together, they all shift slightly, putting one foot slightly forward into the circle. Keith is just a second behind. Lance leans in for a second. “Just follow our lead, Keith.” He says before they’re all suddenly moving.

They lean into their forward feet, shifting one way, and then lead back, effectively shifting the opposite way. Their small circle goes back and forth, a push and pull. Lance waits for them to build momentum, bodies and heads bobbing up and down with every shift of direction.

Then he lifts his head higher than the rest and shouts, “ _I say VOL. You say Tron! VOL!”_

“ _TRON!_ ” His friends echo, and he can hear groups in the crowd doing the same.

“ _VOL!_ ”

“ _TRON!_ ”

“ _VOL!_ ”

“ _TRON!_ ”

They throw up their hands in the air, once again with Keith a second behind. And the crowd roars as they spread out into a loose arch, facing across the stage at their opponents. The Blade of Marmora is a fairly recent team, but one that had been showing up more regularly before the hiatus. They all wear the same outfit, all with masks over their eyes. Other than their body types, they’re entirely uniform. They stand in a line, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind their backs.

It’s an intimidation tactic, and Lance knows it. But that doesn’t stop it from working. Thankfully, they’ve been around the block a few times, and all of them thrive in competition.

“ _Blade of Marmora, are you ready?”_ The referee calls, voice echoing through their microphone and out across the crowd.

The other team makes a wordless shout, all together as one unit.

“ _Voltron, are you ready?”_

“ _Whoooo!_ ” They shout together.

“ _DJ, let the music play!_ ” The man says, stepping back from the center of the stage toward the side and gesturing to Matt’s booth.

There’s a few beats of silence, the crowd dying down, anticipation pounding through Lance’s veins alongside adrenaline. The energy and tension around them feels _tangible_ , twisting around his body and making the air thick. He feeds on it, _lives_ on it. He holds his breath without really realizing that he’s doing it, and only notices when the music starts up and his lungs start working again.

Pidge told them that Matt has made specific mixes specifically for the dance-off, in an attempt to please and impress. He’s become a regular at the Balmera club, and he was their first pick to host their first dance-off after the hiatus. To keep things fair, he hasn’t let Pidge or any of the rest of them listen to the songs he’s mixed for tonight, but he promised them that they were all easily to recognize and follow along with. A dance battle is all about adapting and going with the flow, but it loses some of the fun if the twists and turns in the music are _too_ unpredictable.

The music starts up and the two large clocks positioned behind each team start counting up in bright, glowing red numbers.

Ten seconds. That’s all they have to get the feel for the beat before the competition begins.

Lance’s head is already bobbing, finding the beat quickly, feels it pulsing through the stage beneath his feet, feels it in his chest alongside his heartbeat. The rest of his body starts to follow suit, preparing, coiling, ready to spring. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see his friends doing the same, each of them feeling the beat in their own ways, subtly loosening up their bodies, rolling their limbs, _feeling_ it as much as they can before the clock hits ten.

When it does, the other team is already in motion. One of them splits immediately from the line up, going from a stand still to motion in a flurry of limbs, dramatic arm movements that lend momentum to flying legs as they jump and turn, landing in the center of the stage. They move, bold movements, high energy, getting right into the heat of the moment.

It has Lance’s blood racing, boiling, _burning_. He’s ready. He’s _so_ ready.

Fifteen seconds.

That’s how much time they have each.

Fifteen seconds to dance before the next team takes over. Keep track of time. No one will cue them in. It’s up to them to keep watch, to jump in and chase the opponent out, to make their mark and put on a show before they’re pushed out of the center.

Fifteen seconds each. Back and forth, until the song comes to an end. Songs are tailored by DJs to be a standard and solid ten minutes and ten seconds. Forty turns total. Twenty turns per team.

No physical contact between teams. Up to two people can go into the center to dance at a time from the same team. The more people from a team who go in and the more variety they show, the more points.

Showmanship. Dancing. Entertainment. Rile up the crowd. Show their stuff. Impress.

Fifteen seconds may not sound like a lot, but in the moment, it moves sluggishly slow. Each tick feels like it’s wading through molasses. And then, all at once, it’s over. Pushed aside to make room for the next person.

Fifteen seconds on the sidelines feels like an eternity. Lance feels each tick in his chest, in his limbs, coiling him tighter and tighter, energy bunching, building, revving up.

When the clock hits twenty seconds, Lance takes a step forward, knowing that no one on his team will stop him. They all know to let him go first. Knows he’ll practically implode if he doesn’t.

He glances over his shoulder and catches Keith’s eye. He’s watching him. Not the Marmora dancer in the center of the stage. Not the clock. _Him_. Eyes wide and lips parted just slightly, expression surprised, awed, and something else that Lance hesitates to put a name to but makes his heartbeat pick up nonetheless.

Lance cracks a smile and turns, putting his back to the center of the stage. He can see the clock behind their team, but he keeps his eyes on Keith. Keith’s smile is small, eyes crinkling with amusement. There’s something else there. Something that grows as Lance turns cocky, moonwalking backwards as the time ticks on.

The clock hits twenty-five, and Lance crosses one foot over the other, winks at Keith, and then throws himself into a spin, holding his hands up close to his torso. He spins and stops hard, facing the other team, striking a pose and holding it for only half a second, just enough to accent the hard stop, before he’s moving again. The previous dancer is already retreating back to his team, but Lance pays them no mind.

This is his time to shine, and he owns it. Feels the lights beating down on his skin. Sees the flash of blue beneath his eyes, across his cheeks. Feels oddly empowered by it. Hears the crowd like a dull roar rumbling above and below the loud blare of the music. Feels the beat beneath his feet, driving him onward, pulsing through him.

He sees movement from the Marmora side, glances at the clock, sees his time is nearly over.

As the next dancer steps up, they stand close, staring him down as he finishes off his set. He doesn’t let it distract him, keeps his performance at high energy right up until the clock hits forty. Then they’re moving, dancing, and Lance stumbles backwards away from the center, one hand clutched to his chest and the other reaching out as if shot.

He may need to back away and hand over his spot light, but he’ll do it in style, holding the audience captive the whole way back to his team.

The game moves quickly. The other team seem to have a rotation that they stick to, but Voltron is a lot more relaxed. They don’t have a set order, save for Lance’s preferred spot at first. They go when they feel it. Step forward to claim their next spot. When you feel it, you feel it, and they all go when they do. They never argue or shove, even when two people step up at the same time. They’re a fluid machine of team work and energy.

The Blade of Marmora are good. Lance can’t really deny that, but they all have relatively the same style. Big, powerful movements, sharp and quick, whole bodies getting into acrobatics that are impressive and crowd pleasers. But it’s more or less all the same. Different moves, yes, but they start to become repetitive the further on it goes.

Voltron has one thing a lot of teams lack: a wide variation of style.

Hunk leaps into the stage, wide movements, stomping and arm gestures. He’s not afraid to get down with sturdy break dancing moves, and he moves with surprising grace for someone his size. He’s not afraid to go up into a handstand, legs angled and kicking as he moves around with the beat. His arms move quickly, widely, wild but coordinated. It’s big. It’s powerful. It’s energetic. It’s _Hunk_.

Pidge slides in with movements that are slick and fluid as water, a snake in the grass, suddenly cocking and pulling the trigger as they strikes, sharp and calculated. They can move their body in ways that most people can barely conceive, let alone do. Makes them look robotic, disjointed. Shifting into place and moving out of it before anyone can really even _think_ about how it’s done. When they’re pushed out of the circle, they moonwalk back to the team, tipping an imaginary hat to their opponents.

Allura slips into the center with beauty and grace. Her movements are wide and powerful, jerking right when she needs to and easing into the next with grace and poise. There’s definitely a ballroom flair to her dancing, and she uses it to her advantage, putting an odd, almost ballet and interpretive spin on hip-hop. It’s fascinating, transfixing, and addicting to watch.

Shiro charges into the center stage, forcing his opponent out and jumping, falling down into a lot of low movements, showing perfect balance and poise, power and grace, despite his handicap. He’s strong with an impeccable center of balance, and it shows. Quick feet work, rolling onto his hands, elbows locked, feet and legs twisting in the air before he’s rolling back onto them. When his time is up, he leaps backwards, leg kicking out, arms being thrown in front of him, crossing.

Coran takes to the stage like a bat out of hell. Goes from watching with one arm crossed over his chest and lightly stroking his mustache to a full on ginger fury. Dives into center stage in a wide sweeping arc, spinning quickly with the music, arms thrown out wide and down on his knees and toes in quick rapid movements. His dance is energetic and high spirited, powerful and memorizing. He spins quickly, arms usually thrown wide, moving quickly with his feet to his knees and back again. He leaps, chest thrown out and knees bent, arms thrown behind him, before landing and immediately taking to his knees before standing again. When he moves, his toes are usually pointed, sweeping across the stage behind him. Quick, rapid movements. Powerful stops. Warrior ballet. Their wild card. A trick up their sleeve. Someone who is wholly so unique and unlike anything any other team can bring to the stage.

And then there’s Lance. Everything in between. He’s high energy and he’s playful. Everything and anything. A fluid fit to match any mold. A patchwork style that can’t be contained in any particular box. He’s the glue that holds the team’s styles together. The space between the cracks. When he takes to the stage, he feels the moment, goes with what he’s inspired by. No one can ever guess what he’ll do next, and half the time he even surprises himself.

With twenty turns each, everyone gets to go more than once. They try to keep it even, and sometimes Lance is _really fucking feeling it_ , but he reigns himself in to let his friends have a go. Because really, as much as he loves dancing himself, he also loves watching his friends. Gets pumped just watching them have fun. Laughs when they show off and work the crowd. Grabs their shoulders and shake them with a wide grin stretching his lips as they come back to the sidelines.

There are a few times throughout it all that Lance finds himself at Keith’s side again. He doesn’t _try_ to be there, but he ends up there nonetheless. Even when his attention is wholly and completely at the center of the stage, even as he’s talking to the others, he ends up at Keith’s side. Bumps into him, checks up on him, makes sure he’s not about to barf or dart off the stage.

Keith stays relatively the same for the first few turns, but as the song goes on, as they trade in and out of the center stage, he can tell Keith is relaxing. Feels him ease into the moment. Catches sight of him smiling and laughing along with their jokes. Sees him congratulating and teasing their friends. And when they make eye contact, he can see that a lot of the tension has bled out of his shoulders, excitement and high of the moment chasing away the shadows in his eyes.

And it makes Lance’s heart swell and his blood run warm.

Because the Blade of Marmora started the battle, Voltron’s turn ends it. He’s been counting the turns, keeping an eye on the clock. He knows it’s coming. The last turn. They need to go out with a bang if they want to be memorable later. And just like it’s tradition for Lance to start the whole thing, it’s also tradition for him to end it.

The clock ticks. Five seconds until their final turn.

He takes a step forward, body already pulled tight, anticipating the release. He’s uncertain what kind of dance will come out when he pulls the trigger, but he’s damn well excited to find out.

But as he steps forward, there’s a hand on his elbow, grabbing his arm, holding him back.

He stops, surprised more than anything. He turns, confusion pinching his brow and pursing his lips, until his eyes land on Keith.

He blinks in surprise, glancing at the hand wrapped around his arm, following it down his arm to his face. When they make eye contact, he cocks his head to the side in silent question.

Keith smirks. Tries to anyway. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s tension there, apprehension, nervousness that’s got the fingers looped around his arm shaking slightly. But his back is straight, shoulders pulled back, and his chin is held high. Alongside the shadows in his eyes is a spark of determination.

Lance’s breath catches in his throat because he knows what this means. He knows what Keith is asking by the simple gesture of grabbing his arm. He won’t ask for it directly. Won’t beg for it. If Lance _really_ wants to go, Keith won’t stop him and won’t complain. But as ready as Lance is to dance, he’s even _more_ excited by the prospect of watching Keith shine.

The clock ticks, and Keith’s eyes flicker over Lance’s shoulder, to the center of the stage, then up higher to the clock above their opponents.

Three seconds.

His eyes snap back to Lance’s, determination starting to crumble as the nerves sink in, eating away at whatever spark of confidence and impulsiveness caused him to step forward in the first place. Lance doesn’t like that. Can’t have that. Doesn’t like the look of those shadows haunting Keith’s eyes. Uncertainty doesn’t look good on him.

Two seconds.

Keith’s hand tightens around Lance’s arm before it starts to drop away. He’s already stepping back, away from Lance and away from center stage. Lance feels a tug at his heart, feels it down to his core, tugs at his strings, makes him reach out and grab Keith’s wrist before he can completely pull away.

One second.

Lance spins, using his momentum and Keith’s surprise to tug him forward, flinging him bodily out onto the stage. The last Marmora dance is already backing away, leaving the space open and ready for Keith to occupy. He stumbles into it, less gracefully than what he probably would have liked, but it’s too late now. It was the only way Lance could think to get him onto the stage, where he clearly wanted to be but had trouble putting himself.

He freezes, straightening and looking around, body held stiff and limbs awkward. A deer caught in the headlights. He turns then, slowly, looking over the crowd until his eyes settle on Lance over his shoulder. He looks scared, and it makes Lance’s chest ache, but he _knows_ Keith can do it, and he knows Keith _needs_ to do it.

So he gives him a smile, soft and gentle. Pours his entire heart into it. Pours in all those feelings he’s scared to name but feels anyway. Pours in everything he wants to say to Keith but is too scared to. Pours in all the excitement he feels for him, all the pride, all the encouragement, all the fondness, everything. Pours it all into his smile and his eyes, hoping it’s enough. Gives him an expression that should, by rights, be private, but gives it to him out in the open because in this moment, this single second where their eyes lock, it _is_ private. It’s just between them.

And then he tilts his chin, jerking it toward the center stage and mouths the command, _”Dance.”_

Somehow, unbelievably, that does the trick.

The switch is flipped.

Something comes over Keith’s expression. An eery calm, a centering, a flood of confidence as his smirk turns coy and his eyes spark. His whole body relaxes, awkward angles turning lax, whole body drooping and cocking into a position that’s far more natural and far more predatory.

Then he tilts his head back, slowly rolling it back to face their opponents, shoulders rolling with it, shoulder blades shifting beneath his shirt. His whole torso goes into it, arms moving as the momentum rocks though his body, and then everything _snaps_ into place.

Lance wishes desperately that he could see the expression on Keith’s face.

Then Keith is moving. Body alternating between states of liquid and solids. He moves like Pidge, like Shiro, wrapped up into a tightly wound little bundle of his own. Body snaps, hips roll, hands run down his chest and over his neck. He grinds down low, legs spread wide, and falls to the ground, only to spring back up with a move that Shiro must have taught him. He doesn’t move around much, but he _owns_ the small space he’s carved out for himself. Makes it his own. _Claims_ it.

He’s predatory. Animalistic in nature. It’s primal and thrilling. Movements going from big and grand to small and intimate in the blink of an eye. Keith is in competition mode, and it shows. He doesn’t back down from a challenge, and he’s _owning_ this one. And throughout it all, throughout all the snaps and rolls, the quick motions and wide gestures, Lance can see some of _himself_ in there. Can see the little playful edges. Can see the coyness, the physical banter, something that Lance is _certain_ Keith picked up from him.

Then Keith catches his eye again, and his eyes are dark and lidded and that smirk is fucking _deadly_ before he’s already moving on.

Lance’s mouth feels dry. Feels like he can’t breathe. His chest is filled with too much _Keith_. It’s an overload, and he feels like he’s shutting down. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, attempting to rip itself right out of his chest.

Because Keith is beautiful. Keith is powerful. Keith is graceful and sexy and playful and confident and just fucking _Keith_. And he’s glad every fucking eye in that room is glued to Keith right now because Lance is having a major melt down and he doesn’t think he can hide it.

Then the song is over, and the buzzer that indicates the end of the round is blaring. It startles Keith out of his moment, his daze like trance. He jerks, whipping around as he referee announces the end of the round and the crowd roars. He looks lost and confused, but his cheeks are flushed pink and his eyes are bright with adrenaline and excitement. He looks breathless.

Then there’s movement on all sides of Lance as their friends rush to the center of the stage. Pidge gets there first, slamming into Keith’s side and wrapping their arms around him. He stumbles but stays standing, hands hovering awkwardly in the air as he blinks rapidly, trying to take it all in. Then Hunk is there, plants himself, wraps the three of them up in his arms, and lifts them all off their feet. Allura gets there next, politely waiting to the side for her turn, unable to control her own grin. Shiro and Coran laugh as they approach much slower but no less enthusiastically.

It looks like they’re all talking at once, laughing, gushing about everything. They keep patting Keith, tugging him this way and that for a hugs. Wrapping him up. Punching his arm. Ruffling his hair.

Lance can’t hear them over the ringing in his ears. Can’t hear much of anything. Everything from the crowd, to the referees announcements, to the dull thump of filler music fades to a fuzzy muted background noise. He’s fixed in place, unable to move, chest molten and mind numb.

He stares and stares and stares. Tries to remember how to breathe and how to feel. Because really, there are too many emotions. Too many thoughts and feeling bouncing around in his head and his chest, each vying for attention but none able to stick.

His focus narrows down to Keith and the dull, pleasant, twisting throb that starts in his stomach and spreads outward, filling him and feeling like it’s trying to burst through his chest. It’s a familiar feeling. One he’s had several times before. One he’s even had about Keith, though he hates to admit it and definitely refused to at the time.

He _knows_ this feeling. Even if he’s never felt it this strongly before. He’s scared to _shit_ of this feeling. But that won’t stop him from feeling it. He doesn’t _want_ to stop feeling it. It’s terrifying and it’s beautiful, dangerous and exhilarating.

Then Keith looks up, finds his gaze and locks on. His expression instantly softens, eyes going lidded and crinkling at the edges as his head tilts to the side. His hair falls across his forehead, curling around his ears. His face is still flushed, and his smile goes from wide and excited to blissful and shy.

It’s a private smile, despite being shared across the length of the stage.

Lance feels a similar smile tugging at his own lips, widening as fucking _pride_ wells up in his chest. Because Keith _did it_ , and he _knew_ he could. And Keith looks so fucking proud and pleased with himself that it fucking _hurts_ Lance that he’s not touching him right now.

But at the same time he knows that if he _were_ to touch him, he might not be able to stop.

So he stays where he is, grin stretched wide, and crosses his arms over his chest, hoping that that might somehow both keep his hands to himself and also stop his heart from breaking through his ribs.

 

* * *

 

The way the dance-off operates is fairly simple.

There are six teams, and every dance team faces off against each other once, going back and forth through a ten minute song. Each song is different, all unique, but they all have predictable elements that make it easy to dance to. At the end of each round, the referee conducts a fan favorite vote, done by pointing at each team and judging how loud the crowd cheers. It helps in their score, but the judges have the final word at the end of the night.

There are ten judges total, sitting in a sectioned off area of the second floor balcony, all with sashes across their chests. Five of them are chosen and selected by the operators of the event, and five of them are chosen randomly through a raffle entered when people pay for admission.

At the end of the night, after everyone has gone through their rounds, there’s a long break in which six buckets are placed on each of the bars. Each bucket labeled with the teams’ names. Upon admission, everyone was given a token. The tokens are then used to vote by placing them in the bucket of choice.

The two teams with the highest amount of tokens go to finals and face off in the final dance-off. Winner is chosen by the judges.

So far, Lance thinks they’re doing pretty good. They’ve won a lot of fan favorite votes, and they’re _slaying_ the competition. But more than that, they’re having _fun_. And most importantly, _Keith_ is having fun.

After getting that push out of his comfort zone, he’s been taking that step on his own. By their second round, he already started stepping out on his own, taking his own turns and owning them just like the rest of them. When he dances, Lance can’t keep his eyes off of him. And when he falls back into line with them, Lance can hardly keep his _hands_ off of him. He pulls Keith to his side often than not, rests his elbow on his shoulder, playfully punches his arm.

He wants to do more than that, wants to pull Keith to him and bury his hands in his hair. Wants to bite at his lips and lick his way into his mouth. Wants to press up against him and feel every hard, smooth planes of his body. Wants to push his knee between Keith’s legs and grind against his thigh. Wants to slip his hands under his shirt and dance his fingertips across every dip and line of his stomach and chest, firm enough to feel but light enough to make Keith’s muscles twitch with anticipation.

He wants to do these things, but he can’t. Not on a stage. Not while they’re still dancing. His body and heart are torn between needing to drag Keith into the closest corner and needing to be at center stage, performing.

Thankfully, Lance isn’t alone in his struggle. He can tell Keith is right there with him.

He can see it in the way Keith watches him when he dances, eyes lidded and dark. Can see it in the way Keith locks eyes with him before his body rolls. Can see it in the way his hands curl into fists, crossed over his chest to keep from reaching out to him. Can see it in the way he leans into Lance just slightly, in the way he almost lazily drapes an arm around his waist when Lance throws an arm over his shoulders. Casual and friendly, save for the way his fingertips slip beneath the hem of his shirt, playing lightly with his hipbone.

He can see it in the way Keith smiles, and knows he’s thinking the same thing.

When they’re not dancing, they’re gathered as a team near the stage, watching the other competitors dance. It’s in these moments that they can slip in more subtle touches, more wandering hands, when they’re blending into the crowd and their friends’ attentions are fixed elsewhere. But it’s not enough. It only makes him want more.

They finally get an opportunity when the last of the rounds finishes, and the referee announces there’ll be a break before the finals. He encourages everyone to vote at either bar, but they’re already turning away from the stage. Coran dismisses them, but not before fixing them all with a stern stare as he tells them to be back here in time for the announcement.

Allura takes Shiro’s hand and tugs him off to the dance floor, where bodies writhe and the bass pounds. For the moment, the warehouse looks like any other club. Pidge slips away to Matt’s DJ booth, Coran wandering after them. Hunk steps away as soon as they’re dismissed, headed for where the judges are leaving their post.

Lance catches Keith’s eye and trails his fingertips down his arm, slipping his hand into Keith’s.

The look they exchange, the small tilt of lips, the smolder in Keith’s eyes. It’s all the courage Lance needs to turn, tugging Keith through the crowd behind him. He can’t tell if the pulse raging against his wrist is Keith’s or his own.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Keith is pushing him up against it. Lips are on his, hungry and eager and sloppy in their desperation. Their teeth clack and it’s messy, but Lance can’t bring himself to _care_ because it’s _Keith_.

Keith beneath his hands. The taste of him on his tongue. The feeling of his body pressing him up against the door, soft and hard in all the right places. Keith’s hands grabbing at him, uncoordinated in their eagerness, fingers curling into his shirt, dragging beneath to run nails down his back, his sides, making his back arch, pushing his body to Keith’s and tilting his head to the side.

Keith’s lips trail down his jaw, teeth running down the column of his neck, making his breath hitch. His hands are under Keith’s shirt without really remembering how or when he got them there. He runs his fingers, wide splayed down Keith’s back, nails hooking into his skin just enough to scratch, shivers running down his spine as Keith growls against his pulse.

Keith bites down, and Lance gasps, sound trailing off into a low moan. His hips buck forward, and Keith slides his knee between Lance’s legs, pressing his thigh against him. Lance bites back another sound, but he still hears it as a whine deep in his throat, hips canting helplessly as he rubs himself against Keith’s thigh. Keith’s hips push back, and Lance can feel him, hard and pressed up against his thigh.

Lance needs more. _Wants_ more. Needs it like air. One hand slides up Keith’s chest, mapping out the build of it beneath his shirt before sliding up his neck, curling his fingers into those dark locks like he’d been fantasizing about for _hours_. He grips hard, tugging Keith’s head back and swallowing down his groan as he pushes forward to Keith’s mouth again.

His other hand slides down his back, enjoying the curve of his lower back, fingers dipping down his dimples before pushing past the waistband of his pants, shoving under the tight material to get a firm grip on his ass. Keith’s hips jerk forward, and Lance’s push back.

They find a rhythm, disjointed but syncing up, bodies grinding desperately, mouths moving hungrily, breaths heavy pants and whistling exhales through their noses. Lance’s hands remain buried in Keith’s hair and pants, holding on for dear life as Keith’s hands roam beneath his shirt, rough, calloused hands exploring his chest, sides, back, nails digging into flesh, thumbs flicking across his nipples.

Then Lance’s knees are buckling, and he can feel Keith’s thighs shaking against his own.

He’s not sure who moves first, and it doesn’t even matter. One moment they’re standing, and the next they’re sliding to the floor. Lance lands heavily, unwilling to let go of his hold on Keith, and unwilling to stop kissing him. He doesn’t think he _can_ at this point. Keith is just so good, tastes to good, sounds so good. He’s a dying man, and Keith is his salvation.

So Lance sits with his back to the door, legs stretched out, and Keith manuvers his way into Lance’s lap, straddling him. Lance whines when Keith pulls away to move, leaning forward to chase after his lips. But then he has a lap full of Keith and gloved hands craddling his face, firm but incredibly gentle as they pull him forward into another kiss. Keith wastes no time licking into his mouth, and Lance is already open for him, eager for the give and take, the push and pull, the back and forth of their lips.

Keith’s fingers curl into Lance’s hair, tilting his head just the way he wants it, mouth devouring his, tugging at the short strands. Lance gasps, whine rumbling in his throat. His hand slips from Keith’s hair, running down his shirt as his other hand slips reluctantly away from his ass. Keith’s hips are rutting against him helplessly, and Lance has to hold him firmly to get him to settle down before his fingers fumble with the button and zipper.

Keith huffs a short laugh against him as Lance struggles, and he leans forward, smiling and playfully nipping at Keith’s lips in response.

When he finally gets them undone, he tugs them open, reaching past Keith’s boxers to wrap long fingers around his length. Keith gasps, head snapping back as Lance runs his thumb over the head. He’s already hard, and Lance can’t even bring himself to make fun of him because his own cock is achingly hard and begging to be touched. But right now, Lance has Keith writhing in his lap, and his own pleasure takes a backseat to that any day of the week.

He leans forward, lips latching onto Keith’s neck, leaving open mouthed kisses up to his ear, sucking on the sensitive spot just below it, loving the way Keith cranes his neck, hips bucking into his hand as Lance slowly explores his length.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to grow impatient, and when he makes a soft, frustrated sound, Lance finds himself smiling. A hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back to the door, and Keith is chasing after him, finding his lips again as his hands slide down his chest, pushing down the waistband of his pants with no preamble and pulling him out. Lance’s breath hitches when Keith touches him, back arching and head hitting the door. Keith smirks against his lips, and Lance can’t bring himself to care.

Because then Keith is pushing his hands aside, shifting his hips so they’re closer, and taking both of their cocks in his hand. Then he’s stroking them both together, and Lance can’t help the whine that slips past his lips, devolving into a groan. Keith echoes him a moment later, low and deep and rumbling.

Keith’s forehead is against his, noses bumping, lips hovering and brushing together, both of them panting heavily. His free hand presses to Lance’s hip, balancing and anchoring himself. Lance’s hands slip around Keith, one hand gripping tight to his back and the other on the swell of his ass.

He bucks up into Keith’s hand, and Keith ruts against him. Breaths mingling, sounds felt through where they touch, echoing in the quiet of the bathroom, music from the speakers out in the warehouse distant and muted. Lance _knows_ he’s being loud, knows each exhale drags across his vocal chords, dragging sounds out through his lips. But he doesn’t care. Can barely hear them. He’s so wholly focused on _Keith_ , eating up and memorizing every sound torn from his throat, falling from his lips.

His forehead drops to Keith’s shoulder, eyes lidded as he stares down at them, tries to memorize what he looks like against Keith, how he looks in Keith’s hand. Keith picks up speed, and it has Lance biting back a whine. Heat is pooling in his gut, body tightening and hips jerking. He can feel Keith’s body shaking beneath his hands, feels the unsteadiness in the erratic cant of his hips.

Then Keith is pushing him back, leaning forward to latch his lips onto Lance’s exposed collarbone, biting down and sucking hard, running his tongue over the abused spot before going at it again. Lance tilts his head back, eyes squeezing shut as his hand tighten, nails digging into flesh.

_”Ah— Ah, Keith—“_

He doesn’t know who comes first. Doesn’t fucking care. Doesn’t care that they’re in a dingy single person bathroom that’s been used by countless drunk people over the past few hours. Doesn’t give a fuck that they’re tangled on the floor with the florescent lights bright against the back of his eyelids. Doesn’t give a shit that he can hear someone banging on the outside of the door and jiggling the handle. Doesn’t fucking care where they are, that they’re a mess, that his shirt is probably stained and Keith’s gloves are probably a mess. Can’t bring himself to give a single fuck that the evidence will show up against the black of their clothes.

He doesn’t fucking _care_ because _Keith_ is in his lap, panting against his collarbones, boneless and comfortable, humming softly and nuzzling into his neck when Lance gently runs his fingers through his ink dark hair.

Doesn’t give a single _fuck_ because he and Keith are here together. His chest is buzzing and warm, tight and full. And he really, really fucking likes Keith.

And for once, instead of constricting his throat, that thought has him feeling like he can finally breathe for the first time in a long time.

 

* * *

 

They make it out of the bathroom, clothes wet from where they attempted to clean them off, Keith’s gloves washed and dried and shoved in his pocket, in time to hear the announcement over the speakers:

_”And by your vote and our judges, the finalists are... Voltron and The Galra Empire.”_

The crowd roars throughout the warehouse, and Lance lets out a loud _whoop_ , jumping and throwing a fist into the air. He blindly grabs for Keith’s hand without really thinking about it, and find it waiting for him, fingers automatically weaving together. Without his gloves, Keith’s hand is warm and smooth, softer than Lance expected.

He could use the excuse of needing to pull and guide Keith through the crowd, but... quite honestly, he doesn’t see the point.

The fact of the matter is that he’s holding Keith’s hand because he _wants_ to. Because he’s _happy_ , high on adrenaline and excitement and _Keith_ , and he can’t stand the thought of _not_ touching him right now, in this moment.

He weaves through the crowd, dragging Keith along in his wake, shoving when he gets too impatient as they make their way to the stage. He finds their friends standing next to it, noticeable in their matching outfits clustered so close. He drops Keith’s hand to dash through an opening at them, slams right into Pidge at full speed, and lifts them off their feet, spinning them around and laughing as they curse.

“ _Put me down!_ ” They wheeze as Lance squeezes them.

“We did it! We did it!” He chants, finally plopping them down on their feet.

“Nice of you two to join us,” Allura says, crossing her arms over her chest, hip cocked to the side, one delicate eyebrow arched and amusement playing across her lips.

“Yes! You’re quite a few ticks late,” Coran says, stroking his mustache, eyes dancing.

“Yeah, you’re _late_.” Pidge says, digging their thumb into the sore spot on his collarbone, a spot that he’s certain has a newly formed bruise.

He swats their hand away, locking his arm around their neck and pulling them in close to dig his knuckles into their hair. “It’s called being fashionably late!”

They struggle, limbs flailing. “What do _you_ know about being fashionable!”

“ _Rude!_ ”

When they finally wiggle out of his arms, he glances over at Keith. He’s sandwiched between Hunk and Shiro, both with their arms crossed over their chests, grinning as they side eye him, nudging his sides playfully. Keith scowls at them both, cheeks tinted dark enough to be seen in the spot lights above the stage.

He doesn’t have to suffer long, however, before Coran is shooing them all onto the stage for the final dance-off.

The format for the finals is like any of the other dance-off’s they’ve had so far, and by now, they all know the routine. They line up as the referee hypes the crowd, not that he needs to do much. By now, everyone in the warehouse is thoroughly drunk and thoroughly warmed up. They lined up in a loose arc, facing their opponents.

The Galra Empire is a team that’s been around for a long time. Before they even formed Voltron. And usually, when they don’t win, it’s because the Galra do. They’ve formed an unspoken rivalry because of it, and anyone who’s been to these events before knows it. Lance can _feel_ that they know it. Can feel the tension and anticipation buzzing in the air, chittering in the crowd. He wouldn’t be surprised if people voted for them just to see them face off again.

Allura wins, and Voltron goes first.

The song starts, one that’s more hype than the others have been, appropriate for the finals. It starts out low, driving forward, building speed and volume.

Lance waits right up until the ten second mark before he’s throwing himself forward. Sprinting from a standstill toward the center stage, going down to his knees halfway there and sliding the rest of the way. He hopes up onto his toes and throws his momentum backwards, bending his back and planting his hand behind him, kicking his feet up into the air and holding it for just a second before swinging his feet down. He’s moving again as soon as his feet land.

The first Galra is already stepping forward, stalking around him, never getting too close to center stage but staring him down. It’s an intimidation tactic, and a damn good one. It also works wonders for building the dance-off suspense and pleasing the crowd. But if they’re looking to throw Lance off his game, they’re going to have to do better than that.

He’s used to this. He _thrives_ on the attention and spot light. This is his _element_. He’s got a crowd to witness him, a song around him, friends behind him, and a damn fine boy watching his ass.

The music pulls on his body like strings, bass moving his limbs like water, beat snapping at his joints.

Then his fifteen seconds are up, and the Galra is in his face, pushing forward into his space to force him back. He steps back, arms splayed wide, unafraid and unintimidated.

The Galra is already dancing, movements dramatic and with flare. As much as Lance isn’t a fan of them personally, he can’t deny that they had skill. No soon had they started before Allura is stalking forward, expression almost bored had it not been for the spark of challenge in her eyes. She steps up near center stage, hip cocked and one arm crossed over her chest. She idly inspects her nails, making a show of it, but Lance can see her keeping an eye on the clock.

As soon as it’s their turn, she’s sliding in, whipping into the center and forcing the other out and away by sheer proximity, making a dramatic flare of shooing them away before claiming the stage for herself.

And it goes on like that. Both teams constantly stalking the center, waiting for their own turn, prowling before diving into rip the spotlight away. There are a lot more gestures exchanged, a lot more stare downs. It’s tense but it’s also _intense_ , heated in a way that brings out a fire in their hearts, makes them prove themselves, makes them _refuse_ to lose.

Everything else fades. he doesn’t see the audience, and their roaring cheers fade into a muted white noise behind the beat that’s thriving in his veins, filling the air, driving him onward. He only pays attention to the other team and the clock. His synergy with his friends, his _team_ , is like a live wire, sparking and sizzling through each of them. He barely glances at them as they take turns stepping up to take the stage. They sync up, glances and words unnecessary are they _feel_ each other and their intentions.

Whenever Keith stands up to dance, Lance feels a heat burning bright in his chest. Feels invigorated as he watches Keith stares down the competition, dance like Lance always knew he could, uninhibited and _free_. There’s a confidence in his pose, a power in his movements, a spark in his eyes, and cockiness in his smirk. Lance fucking _loves_ it, and when Keith meets his gaze, he can feel the fire burning between them.

Two of the Galra jump in at once, doing a combo that somehow manages to be individual and in sync. Lance makes eye contact with Hunk, exchanging a nod, smiles curving their lips. When it’s their turn, they both dive forward, taking to the stage with a flair and synergy that’s born from years of knowing each other, years of dancing together.

When two more Galra step up to show off a combination dance, different styles weaving together flawlessly, Shiro and Allura stand up to the challenge, following them up with teamwork that is beautiful, powerful, and undeniably perfect. They move like extensions of the other, both able to stand alone but standing stronger together.

The Galra throw out a dancer who sweeps across the stage in rapid spins, kicks, jumps, and explosive movements, keeping all of them back from stalking closer. Coran is up for the challenge, darting forward when it’s their turn, taking those spins and kick and jumps and putting more of a flare on them, a dynamic to it, a _fire_ and a _rage_.

It’s starting to feel like a _battle_ , and Lance _loves_ it.

The next Galra takes to center stage with a sideways flip, a cartwheel without hands. He’s built big, thick arms strong as he does a lot of hand word, flipping his body and supporting it as he spins, kicking up his legs. Lance has tried enough of those moves to know it’s impressive, but he also knows that this guy is just showing off moves. There’s no _flair_ , no _showmanship_.

Lips quirking into a cocky smirk, he pushes into the guy’s space with quick foot movements, following after him as he backs up, shooing him off. Then he shoots them finger guns before flipping backwards, going up on his hands and launching himself into a jump. When his feet land, he goes down into floor work, quick and precise, cutting it with a lot of up and down, a lot of movements of his body that have him right side up, up side down, sideways, and every orientation between.

When his time is almost up, he sees one of the Galra stepping up. He recognizes her. They’ve faced off against them far too many times for him not to. She’s slim, agile, and incredibly acrobatic. She sashays past him, cocking an eyebrow and a finger as she makes her way to the edge of the stage.

He smirks, following her lead as he dances his way to the same edge.

He knows what she wants. She usually take to the center with tumbles, flipping head over feet, spinning in the air. She does it every time, but this time she’s summoning him to the edge of the stage, and he knows why: she’s challenging him. She’s seen him work, seen his flips, and is challenging him to keep it going, thinks she can show him up, bring flare to the start of her turn.

How can a gentleman say no?

He lines up to the edge of the stage, facing the crowd, right at the last second of his turn. She’s in the same position, a few feet away. He makes eye contact, and she nods, a smirk on her lips. His eyes spark, smirk widening as he nods back.

Then they’re both flipping backwards, throwing their weight and bodies back, bending, landing on their hands before carrying their momentum through. Hands, feet, hands, feet, hands, feet. They flip together across the length of the stage. He’s vaguely aware of her next to him, but he doesn’t now how well she’s doing or how fast she’s going. All he can do is focus on himself and his drive.

His drive to do better, to look better, to be better. She wants to show him up, but he’s determined to steal the spotlight for himself. So he keeps going, flips, across the stage, keeping an eye on his surroundings as they tumble by, world spinning. He doesn’t do this often, rarely needs to, preferring to stay in a more confined space, but he’s done it enough to know that he _can_. Knows he can trust his body to do what it needs to do.

He counts his flips. Watches how close to the edge of the stage he gets. Three more. Two more. One more. _Stop_.

He does a little leap with the last one, planting his feet with a firm stop to his momentum. Throws his arms up in the air, wide grin on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that his opponent has stopped, too, but it’s not for long. She’s already moving, dancing her way back to the center of the stage. After all, her turn has just begun.

Lance moves to take a step forward, a step back towards where his friends are waiting. But his head is still spinning, a lot worse than he anticipated. The warehouse spins, spotlights blinding, adding to it, disorienting as his mind tries to catch up to what he’s seeing.

His weight shifts, balance thrown off and not quite recovered. He stumbles a step, trying to catch himself, but then his heel is hovering over open air.

He panics, whipping his head around to see that he’s a _lot_ closer to the edge of the stage than he anticipated. His calculations must have been off. He turns too fast, vision swimming and spinning, body unable to find balance as his feet slip off the stage, arms flailing uselessly.

For just a second, he’s in free fall. One terrifyingly long second. A second that stretches out into minutes, hours, days, lifetimes. A long second that ticks by in slow motion, mind whirling a mile a minute but unable to come up with any coherent thoughts other than _no no no no fuck fuck shit_. He’s not even sure his heart beats in that second, squeezing painfully in his chest as panic rises up to choke off the wordless shout in his throat.

And then that second passes, and the free fall ends with pain shooting up his leg.

He _feels_ more than hears the _crack_ as his ankle slips and impact shoots up his leg. Feels it vibrate through him. Feels the grind of his ankle rolling, feels the crack of things that definitely shouldn’t crack. Hears the impact of his landing echoing in his ears.

And then he lies there, staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse, mind spinning and reeling. The spotlights hurt his eyes. He can distantly feel the music pulsing through the floor, but he can’t hear it. Sees unfamiliar faces and familiar faces alike popping into his vision, but he can’t focus on them. Vaguely notices their mouths moving, but can’t hear their voices over the ringing in his ears.

The sharp pain left as soon as it came, leaving just a dull throb echoing up his right leg, almost indistinguishable from the pound of the bass.

He feels... Distant. Disjointed. Disconnected. Body numb and mind not quite aware of it. He knows, somewhere in his awareness, what has happened. He knows. He has all the evidence to put the pieces together. But every time he reaches for that conclusion, it shies away, body and mind recoiling from it. Can’t accept it. Can’t be real. It can’t be real. It can’t be real. _It can’t be real. Not happening. Not happening_.

Faces in his field of vision, but he can’t focus on them enough to recognize them. They come and go. Features mixing. A flash of yellow. Orange hair, A glint of glasses. A scar. White hair. Beautiful midnight eyes.

Lips form words that his ears belatedly recognize as his name.

They look worried. They sound panicked.

He knows he’s probably feeling the same things, but his awareness of those emotions are dull and muted, buried under a fog of disbelief and shock, his consciousness fragile and pulled back, sheltering itself in a bubble of denial and fear.

He stares at the lights, blinding and burning, as his focus narrows down to the heavy _thump_ of his heart, loud and hard against his rib cage, each pulse fueling the mantra repeating in his mind.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Would you believe me if I said this moment has been subtly foreshadowed at least once per chapter?
> 
> Never fear. This story DOES have a happy ending, but it's probably not the ending that you've been anticipating. 
> 
> Shout-out to Wrenn for being the only one to find the foreshadowing. Shout-out to Steven for attempting to come up with a dramatic angst spin on this fic as a joke and unknowingly guessing exactly what Sora and I had planned all along. Shout-out to Jackie because about 80% of Allura's drunken messages are word-for-misspelled-word based on her own drunk messages. Shout-out to my friends for inspiring my group chats. And shout-out to Pup for Lance's Keith's-ass-appreciation messages and for winning the "when will Lance break his leg" bet in our group chat.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC.** This includes platforms such as instagram and pinterest. 
> 
> Reblog it from the artist: [tumblr](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/165879212509/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-12-update) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters/status/913907436276322304)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	13. One Foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **coo coo motherfuckers** : okay lance, what the FUCK  
>  **vive la lance** : what the fuck WHAT??  
>  **vive la lance** : whatd I dO?  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : keith  
>  **vive la lance** : idk what youre talking about  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : bullshit  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re treating keith like shit and it needs to stop  
>  **vive la lance** : I am not!  
>  **uptown hunk** : you kinda are buddy  
>  **vive la lance** : I barely talk to him!  
>  **coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, that’s the point, dumbass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being one of the longest chapters of this fic so far. It's 24k words, so please take your time, don't stay up all night, take a break halfway through for a drink or a snack, and don't put off important things. This chapter will be around when you're ready, so no need to rush. Take care of yourselves, my dudes <3
> 
> Happy reading!

He ends up needing surgery.

They tell him the details of the procedure, but he finds it hard to hear over the ringing in his ears. The high pitched static buzzing that fills up the room and crackles across his skin. He hears the words. Understands them. But he can’t fully absorb them. They sink into his mind like pebbles dropped onto molasses, sinking slowly, unrushed and floating leisurely downward. And when they finally reach the bottom, it’s a gentle landing, barely a pressure. Knowledge sitting there on the tip of understanding without truly sinking in.

A haze has settled around him. It’s been there since the moment he fell from the stage and pain shot up his leg. It was there was people rushed around him, hectic movement swirling, chaotic. A storm in which he was the eye, immobile, calm, indifferent to the winds battering his edges.

It was there as he was helped to the car and driven to the hospital. It was there as his friends spoke around him, muting their words, dimming their touches, making them feel distant.

It was there as he sat in the waiting room, surrounded by people he knew and loved. Friends, all dressed in black. Their faces barely registered, even when they crouched in front of him. He could only tell them apart by flashes of color.

Orange and purple moving around, corralling all of them, pressing a clipboard and a pen into his hands, guiding him softly as he filled out the blank lines. He watched his hand move, distant and absently curious as they shifted, scribbling out words in a handwriting that was a messy version of his own, the shaking of his fingers visible in the pen strokes.

Pink in his vision, cupping his cheeks with hands that were small and warm, lips moving in words that he didn’t quite hear, delicate features pinched in worry. Yellow at his side, arm draped heavy and thick around his shoulders. Green behind him, occasionally flashing in his vision when his head tilted automatically at sounds, small hands in his hair, running through his locks soothingly and methodically, blunt nails scratching at his scalp before dropping down to rub at his back.

Red. Red hovering around the group. Red staying at the sidelines. Red a shadow just beyond the others. Red and midnight eyes creased and glistening with far too many emotions for his rattled mind to understand. Red settling into the seat at his side. A hand in his, warm and calloused fingers, palms oddly soft against his own. An occasional squeeze, a pinching of his fingers, grounding, anchoring when he started to drift.

Time had slipped away. Time holding him suspended as it swirled around him, moving quickly and slowly in turns. Then he was ushered into another room. Another flurry of faces. Pokes and prods. More pain shooting up his leg. He thinks he might have shouted, but he doesn’t quite remember.

He’s in that room now.

He feels his lips moving to answer questions, hears his voice like he’s listening from another room. It barely sounds like his own, just as muffled as the others.

He sees the activity in the room like he’s watching from afar. Like he’s trapped in his own body but not quite occupying it. It’s all so distant. Movements are disconnected from his awareness of them, making them move sluggishly and far too quickly all at once. There’s a delay to everything reaching his senses.

He doesn’t remember calling his parents, but someone must have because they say that they’re on their way. When they get there, they only add to the storm around him. Another flurry of words, sounds, voices, movement, familiar smells that stand out in strange, stark relief against the sterile hospital environment. Everything is too white. It seems to glow unnaturally, a fuzzy aura clinging to everything. His friends moving like shadow smudges against the pristine backdrop.

Then the colors are ushered out. They say goodbye to him. He registers that much. Orange, purple, pink, yellow, green, red. They drift past his vision. They hug him. Squeeze his shoulders, his hand, his arms. They speak in muted voices, deep and weary as he feels. They say words that drift past him, adding to the storm, floating close enough for him to recognize them as the comfort they’re meant to be before they disappear into the haze.

He’s wheeled into another room, and the understanding that he’s going to be staying the night is slow to sink in. Little pinpricks, needles of comprehension pressing into his flesh, weighing him down, pinning him to the flimsy excuse for a mattress. He’ll stay the night to keep his leg from moving, and then they’ll do the surgery first thing in the morning.

Surgery.

 _Surgery_.

His leg and ankle are fucked up enough that he needs surgery.

He thinks he might have told the doctors what had happened. Either that, or one of the others did. None of them have asked the question that hangs over their heads like an axe, poised and ready to strike, rope holding it up fraying and unraveling as each second ticks by with agonizing slowness.

Tick. Tock.

Surgery.

It has to be bad if he needs surgery. Real bad. Bad enough that they don’t want him walking on it at all. No pressure. No risk of fucking it up worse.

He hasn’t looked at it yet. Can’t quite bring himself to. He keeps his eyes above the waist, because he’s certain if he sees it, that somehow makes it more _real_. Makes it unavoidable. Like all of this might be able to rewind as long as he doesn’t _look_.

But he’s seen the expressions on his friends’ faces. He’s seen the sympathy, the worry, the pity. He’s seen their nervousness. He’s seen the heartbreak in their eyes.

He’s felt the pain.

His parents talk to the doctor. He thinks they talk to him, too. He replies, robotically and automatically. He sees the looks in their eyes, and somehow it’s worse than his friends. It’s more real. It’s unguarded. It’s raw and worried and filled with sympathy and pain as they look at him. As they look at his leg. As they put a hand on his arms and tell him it’ll be alright.

By the time they leave, it’s a breath of relief. He’s alone for the night. They’ve set him up and left him to rest.

And that’s when it all comes crashing down. The numbness starts to melt, starts to uncoil and drip from his heart. The haze begins to clear, his mind being forced back into his body. His awareness is thrust back into the moment, no longer free to drift just beyond himself. In the wake of the numbness, he burns. His chest burns. His lungs burn. His eyes burn. His vision blurs.

He curls up as best he can, and he lets himself cry.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t think he can. Just lets the emotions run through him and out. Lets the events of the night sink in. Let’s them imbed themselves to his memory. Lets himself finally grasp them with shaking, tentative hands. Because it happened. It happened, and it happened so quickly. One second ticked to the next, and everything he’s been working for, everything he’s built, everything he is just came crashing down.

Tick. Tock.

He lets himself cry until he can’t. Chokes back the sobs and holds back the screams. He wants to feel rage. Thinks that anger might help. But while he can feel it brewing beneath the surface, it’s dulled and numb and doesn’t quite burn bright enough to matter.

So he surrenders to the quiet, to the buzz of machines around him. He can hear his phone vibrating against the table next to him, but he ignores it. He’s on painkillers, but his leg still throbs. Feels it start to pulse through his haze. A subtle reminder, one that vibrates through his core, a shadow hanging over him, nipping at the rope that dangles the axe above his head.

Then the rope snaps, axe comes crashing down, slicing through him and leaving him gasping for breath, a fresh wave of heat stinging behind his eyes.

He’s not going to dance at regionals.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to dance again.

He goes to sleep that night clinging to the hope that he’ll wake up to find it’s all been a dream.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t a dream.

It’s a nightmare.

The surgery goes off without a problem. The only real problem being that he needs surgery in the first place. All the nurses and the doctor try to reassure him throughout the process, thinking that he’s nervous about going under, nervous about the pain, nervous about surgery. It doesn’t click until he says he’s a dancer. Then their comforting looks turn to sympathy, just a hair shy of pity. He stops making eye contact with them after that.

They monitor him for most of the day, but at the end of it, he’s allowed to go home. He’s happy about that. If he’s going to sit around and do nothing, he’d rather do so in the privacy of his own room, where he doesn’t have to control his expressions around so many strangers.

At home, at least he can cry in peace.

His foot and leg are wrapped up tight in a splint, locked away in a cast. He’s not supposed to put weight on it for a while, and he’s given crutches to get around in. Turns out crutches are a pain in the ass, so he opts for moving around as little as possible. He keeps to his bed, sits in his pajamas all day, keeps his foot elevated, and... really does nothing.

His family drifts in and out of his room. His mom brings him food, bustles around fluffing his pillows and asking if he needs anything at least twice an hour. His dad checks up on him, tries to crack some jokes that fall flat. He tries to offer him a small smile for his effort, but that, too, feels hollow. His siblings come and go. Some of them poke their heads in, make a comment, try to make him smile. It doesn’t work. Sometimes they sit with him, but it’s more uncomfortable than anything.

He’s happier when they leave him alone, when he doesn’t have to pretend to be okay for their sake, when he can just... mope in peace. Wallow like he has every right to.

They eventually take the hint. They leave him be. Let him deal with it in his own way. It doesn’t stop their visits by any means, but he at least has more time to himself between each one.

Every time he sees his leg, wrapped up and immobile, he feels a nauseating twist in his stomach, has to turn his head up and gaze at the stars on his ceiling, sickly green and dull in the daylight, blinking away the burn behind his eyes.

His phone’s battery has died, and he doesn’t bother charging it. After the initial _I’m fine_ message he sent out to his friends after his surgery, he let it go. Hasn’t really touched it since. Is afraid to, really. He doesn’t know how to face them. Facing them just make this crazy fever dream even _more_ real.

He doesn’t think he can handle that.

So he puts it off. Ignores their concern. Curls up on his bed as best he can with his foot elevated and stretched in front of him. Passes his nights in fits of shallow, dreamless sleep. Passes his days lazing on the bed, idly watching movies on his laptop and losing himself in old, nostalgic video games.

The only silver lining to this nightmare is that the doctor said he’ll be able to dance again.

Given time for recovery and physical therapy, he’ll dance again.

It’ll take time and patience to get back to where he was, but he’ll dance again.

And that’s the thought he clings to when the shadows creep in.

He’ll dance again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“And you know what the _worst_ part is?” Sophia asks, voice muffled from where she sits on the other side of the closed door. She pauses, clearly waiting for Lance’s direction to keep going.

He hums absently, dragging his fingers through the water, watching the purples and silvers and blues shift beneath his touch, the specks of glitter catching the fluorescent bathroom lights like stars. “What’s the worst part?” He asks, voice flat and bland.

Sophia doesn’t seem to mind his lack of enthusiasm. She barrels right on ahead. “The _worst_ part is that everyone still _adores_ her! Just because she’s good at pretty much _everything_.” He can hear the bitterness rolling off his sister’s tone, hear the frustration biting at her words. He can imagine the way her hands dance through the air in aimless gestures as she talks. “Just because she’s top of the class and really fucking good at soccer doesn’t mean—“

“Language.” Lance says with no real heat, fingers still dancing through the stars, spinning his own galaxies left behind by his favorite bath bomb. It helps him lose himself a little, but it doesn’t do much to make him feel better.

“Sorry,” She says, voice dripping sarcasm. “Really _friggin_ good at soccer doesn’t mean that she’s a great person. She’s grouchy and frowns a lot and she’s rude, and people just think she’s cool and mysterious just because she doesn’t talk a lot and doesn’t care what people say. And she has a nose ring. A nose ring, Lance! Who even has those at our age? All the boys have crushes on her, and they’re not even subtle about it. Not that she cares about that. She’s too cool for them, anyway.”

“Sounds to me like _you_ think she’s cool.” Lance says, lip quirking at the edges.

He can hear her sputtering through the door. “I do _not!_ She’s obnoxious, and moody, and doesn’t even know who I am! Even though I’m _clearly_ her rival in both soccer _and_ academics!”

“Sounds like Sophia has a cruuuush,” He sing songs, a teasing lilt entering his voice.

“I do _not!_ ” She shrieks, voice rising in pitch. He chuckles, and she plows on ahead. “For your _information_ , I have a crush on Johnny from band.”

“You can have a crush on both.”

She’s silent for a long while. Long enough that the silence settles into the bathroom with an eery thickness. His hands stop moving, water in the tub settling into a still pool, only shifting with every shallow breath he takes. He can hear the clock ticking in the hallway, giving the only indication that time is moving.

“But...” She says, voice soft enough that it doesn’t break the silence, merely shifted beneath it, muted and low. He can hear her shifting outside the door, rattling it as she moves her weight. “But that would mean...”

She trails off, uncertain and small, and Lance decides to throw her a bone. Keeping his voice light and indifferent, he snorts loudly. “Didn’t think we’d ever have the coming out conversation through the bathroom door.”

At that, he hears her own soft snort of amusement, and something warm and soft and fond ignites in his chest, slowly melting away the chill that has built up over the past few days. “Yeah, well... it’s not like I didn’t know— I mean, I’ve had suspicions, but—“

“Congrats,” He says, cutting her off before her rambling could get worse. He knows that frantic word vomit tone. He knows it far, far too well. A McClain curse, in all honesty. “You’ve got more in common with your big bro than you thought.”

He hears her scoff and a muttered, “Gross,” But she doesn’t sound upset. Thoughtful perhaps, relieved maybe, but not upset.

Their moment is cut when he hears the doorbell, muted and distant but unmistakable. It’s followed shortly by a pressure shift in the house as the door opens, and the sound of his mom’s voice. Her words are indistinguishable, and whoever she’s talking to is soft spoken enough that he can’t hear them all the way on this side of the house.

But then she’s calling his name, loud enough to carry and sharp enough to get his attention.

There’s rustling on the other side of the door as Sophia stands. “I’ll go see what she wants.”

“Thanks,” He says, but he can already hear the floorboards creak as she walks away.

He’s back to tracing his fingers through the water, watching the patterns form and dissipate. His leg is hooked over the edge of the tub, cast staying perfectly dry outside of the water. Honestly, bathing is a pain in the ass with the thing, but there’s not much he can do.

 _It’s only temporary._ He has to remind himself. _Only temporary_.

“Lance!” Sophia calls, walking closer to the bathroom door again. “You have a friend at the door.”

“Is it Hunk?” He asks, irritation sparking distant and small. He already has his family hovering over him, smothering him with pitying looks and far, far too much concern. He doesn’t need Hunk doing it, too. Sure, he hasn’t really responded to the big guy’s messages in a few days, but that doesn’t mean he has to come over unannounced—

“It’s not Hunk.”

Irritation gives way to surprise. “Pidge?”

“Nope.”

Surprise gives way to confusion. “Then who...?”

“It’s Keith. The guy from the bookstore?”

Something shoots through him. Something hot and electronic, leaving his stomach knotting and his limbs tingling. His heart beats far too fast at just the mention of his name, driven into overdrive at the thought of him standing in his doorway, talking to his mom. He clears his throat, far, far too aware of how dry his mouth suddenly is, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. “What does he want?”

“Dunno. He just said he wanted to come by and see you before work. He brought you a milkshake.”

Lance blinks, feeling a far too familiar burn behind his eyes. He sinks lower in the tub, mimicking the way his heart sinks into his stomach.

Keith.... He can’t face Keith. He can’t face any of his friends right now, let alone _Keith_. Just the thought of his stupid, beautiful face makes Lance’s chest squeeze with guilt. He fucked up. He fucked up things not only for himself, but for Keith as well. He doesn’t want Keith to see him like this. Not when he can barely keep himself together.

And he knows that if he’s put face to face with him, forced to look at those gorgeous dark eyes, thick brows pulled together in concern, full lips pursed in worry.... Lance would break.

He’s so close to the edge as it is, and he doesn’t want to break. Not again.

He’s not strong enough to face it, right now. To face _him_.

It’s something he knows he’ll have to face eventually, but right now it’s too much. Too overwhelming. He’s already dealing with the reality of a broken leg and his hopes for regionals crushed into dust. He doesn’t know how to deal with facing his friends. Facing _Keith_.

So he pulls into himself. Attempts to hide as much as he can in the galaxy painted waters of his tub, trying to seek out the warmth to comfort the chill in his heart.

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Lance,” Sophia sighs, and he can _hear_ the roll of her eyes. “You’ve been in there for like forty minutes. You’re probably purney and the water is probably cold. Just come out and talk to your friend.”

“No.”

“Lance—“

“Sophia,” He says, hating the waver in his voice, hating the way it nearly cracks, hating how he knows she can hear it. He clears his voice, takes a deep breath to settle himself. “Please...” He says, knowing the plea is there in his voice, raw and vulnerable. “Please just tell him I’m busy.”

She’s silent for a long moment, long enough for him to focus on the pound of his heart against his ribs, the anxiety and nerves and panic that flood his veins, nipping at the numb calm that has surrounded him for the past few days.

“Fine,” She says finally, and it’s not happy, but there’s a sigh of defeat there. “I’ll tell him.”

He allows himself to let out his breath in a rush, sinking until his knee pokes out from the water and his chin is nearly submerged. “Thanks, Soph.”

“Can I have your milkshake?”

“ _Fuck_ , no!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Welcome to the Temple. Of. Aboobis.” Pidge says in a voice that’s nasally and mockingly dramatic.

Lance snorts. “You do that every time.”

“It’s tradition at this point.”

“I can’t even _hear_ the name Anubis without thinking _Aboobis_ , so thanks for that.” Lance says dryly, but there’s a lilting edge of amusement that he can’t quite snuff out.

Pidge openly cackles. “Good. Matt passed it onto me, and now I’ve passed it onto you.”

“Thank you ever so kindly,” He says, laying on a thick southern belle accent, batting his eyelashes and hoping the sentiment transfers. Whether it does or not, Pidge still snickers.

When Pidge has messaged him about playing Overwatch, he was hesitant. He’s still just been glossing over the group chat, avoiding one on one communication completely unless it was something important. And even then, he only gave short, direct answers.

They’ve stopped asking him how he’s doing, which is what he _wanted_... so why does it leave him feeling so hollow?

His boredom had overridden his apprehension in the end, and perhaps a little bit of his need to hear someone besides his family. What can he say? He’s a social creature. And despite the fact that the idea of talking to his friends makes him an anxious mess, he feels incredibly lonely without them. A catch twenty-two.

So he ends up accepting Pidge’s game invite, breathing a sigh of relief when it’s just the two of them. Even more so when they call him on a private voice call instead of in the group.

He hadn’t realized just how much he missed Pidge’s voice until they were there in his ear, ranting about how he always picks snipers. Then again when he goes for Junkrat. It’s got him grinning from ear to ear, ignoring the dull burn in his eyes, laughing in a way that feels cracked and raw and strange to his own ears, and he feels so much _lighter_.

“Dude, I know you’re rusty, but please just hit _something_.”

“I’m biding my time, Pidge. Being a sniper is all about waiting for the right shot.”

“Yeah, well while you’re _waiting for the right shot_ , I’ll just be dying in the flank with no back up.”

“What else is new?”

“fuck off.” Pidge says, unable to bite back their laughter. “I fucking _own_ you at this game. At least I can land a shot.”

He holds off on his response, keeping an eye on the game, waiting for the right moment— One headshot. Another. Someone behind him. Turn and shoot. Another one dead. Up to a new vantage point, quick shot. Four down.

“What was that, Pidge?” He taunts, smirking as they reach the checkpoint.

“Show off.”

Lance just hums, smile on his lips. The game goes on, and then flows into another. And another. This is good. He needed this. Hadn’t realized he needed this, but he did, and he knows that now. Pidge is giving him some semblance of normalcy in a time where it feels like everything is constantly crashing around him. Pidge hasn’t brought up the accident, or dancing, or _anything_. Hasn’t even brought up his absence in the group chat, or how he’s been avoiding Hunk’s calls and Keith’s messages.

Pidge is just treating him like _Lance_ , and it’s exactly the kind of balm he hadn’t realized he needed.

“So Tuesday’s coming up...”

Or maybe he spoke too soon.

Apprehension immediately seizes his chest, back and shoulders tensing as his stomach flips uncomfortably. “Yeaaaah?” He says, slowly and warily. He knows Pidge can hear it, and he doesn’t try to hide it. His caution is a warning.

One that Pidge decisively ignores.

“Sooooo... you gonna come out?” They ask it casually, conversationally, far too flippantly for their calm to be real. They know they’re treading into dangerous waters, trying to make it look like walking on eggshells is the easiest thing in the world.

Too bad it’s fucking not.

“No.”

“Lance—“

“No, Pidge.” He says sharply, tension rising and making his chest tight, making his breaths come shallow. His voice is hard and harsh, far more than he wanted to be and a direct opposite from what he had been moments ago. But it seems to drive the point home, and he clings to it lest he break. “I’m not going to the park. I can’t—“ He has to stop, feeling the words get caught on the lump in his throat. He swallows, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath in a desperate attempt to keep his voice from shaking. “I can’t dance. There’s no point.”

And... Jesus, those words hurt to say. He hasn’t said them aloud until this moment. Hasn’t typed them. Hasn’t heard them from anyone besides his doctor. The weight of them settle heavily on his shoulders, pushing him into his mattress, crushing his ribs, squeezing his heart.

“You don’t have to dance,” Pidge pushes, consoling and mildly pleading, waving off his concerns with an indifference that he should find comforting but he really doesn’t. “We just want to hang out with—“

“Pidge, just—“ He breaths sharply through his nose, letting it out slowly. “Just let it go, okay?” His words are harsh, clipped. Anything less and he might fall back into that pit he had just spent the last few days climbing out of.

Pidge is silent for a moment before she huffs a soft and defeated. “Fine.”

“I’m done for the night.” He says, already closing out of the application. “Thanks for the games.”

“Yeah, you, too.” Pidge says, voice still heartbreakingly soft. “And Lance?”

“Yeah?” He says, mouse hovering over the disconnect button.

“It was good talking to you again...”

He swallows, tongue feeling thick, and when he replies, it’s a whisper, not quite trusting his voice. “Yeah, right back at you, Pidgeon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Thanks for the ride, buddy.” Lance says, awkwardly sliding into the passenger seat of Hunk’s beat up gold Buick.The kind of car that’s surprising that it’s still kicking. The kind that could hit you head on and come out barely scratched. It’s, admittedly, an old lady car, and it’s a fact that Lance has teased Hunk about on more than one occasion. But doesn’t mind. Just smiles and calls her ol’ Bertha.

“No problem, dude. You know that.” Hunk says, waving him off as Lance wrestles his crutches into the backseat.

He huffs when they’re finally in place, turning to close his own door before settling into the old, soft leather of his seat. “Really, though. You’re a lifesaver. No one’s really around to give me a ride, and it’s not like I can drive myself.” He says, chuckling with dry humor.

“You know I’m always here for you, buddy.” Hunk says as he pulls out onto the street. “For _anything_.”

Lance stifles a groan, letting his head hit the headrest. “I know,” He says, humor leaving his voice. He’s just _tired_. “Thanks.”

Hunk hums softly, and the two of them lapse into silence. Unfortunately, it’s not the companionable silence that Lance is used to with Hunk. It’s not the silence between two friends who have known each other long enough to be comfortable in it. It’s not a silence that exists peacefully without the pressure of words unspoken clawing at the shadows.

The silence is tense and awkward, a strange pressure building between them with every second that ticks by, stretching and pulling tight, ready to snap, rope fraying. The things they don’t say, the things they want to say, the things they're afraid to bring up, it all hovers between them. A weight on his shoulders. A thickening of the air. A buzz across his skin. It’s something he very rarely experiences around Hunk anymore. And the worst part is he knows it’s his fault.

He’s been ignoring Hunk’s calls for two weeks now. He’s responded to a couple messages, just to keep the guy from going off the deep end with too much worry, but he hasn’t given him much else. Nothing substantial. And as soon as Hunk broaches heavier topics, Lance is out.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to talk to Hunk. And it’s not that he’s upset with Hunk. It’s just... Hunk has known him for a long ass time. Hunk knows him inside and out. And Hunk likes to push. Lance doesn’t have a lot of defenses up when it comes to his best friend, and if Hunk pushes, he knows it won’t take much before he caves.

He’s not sure if he’s ready to cave.

He doesn’t even know why he’s afraid anymore. He just knows that he _is_.

“Soooo...” Hunk says, trailing off as they come to a stop at a red light. His hands hit the wheel, off rhythm to the song playing softly on the radio. It’s a nervous tick, and Lance knows it. Which, combined with the false innocence in his voice, means he knows _exactly_ where this is going.

He groans loudly, rolling his eyes and making a show of rolling his head, body tilting until he’s leaning against the cool glass of the window. He glares out at the car next to them. “Huuuuunk.” He whines, drawing out his name in as much warning as protest.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Hunk shaking his head. “Sorry, buddy,” He says, having the decency to actually _sound_ sorry. “But you knew this conversation was coming.”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t...” Lance grumbles. He heaves a sigh, lifting his head and tilting his chin down so he can peg Hunk with big ol’ sad eyes, looking up through his lashes as he pouts.

His face? A+ puppy dog look. Cultivated through _years_ of being a middle child trying to get his way, practiced to perfection in front of a mirror, guaranteed to make adults and children bow to his whims.

His voice? Downright pitiful. Sad and kicked and just enough pleading without sounding like he’s begging.

Hunk glances at him, face immediately falling and fingers freezing on the steering wheel. “Oh man, _Lance_ , please don’t use the _face_.”

Lance says nothing, just adds a little more furrowed brow, a little quiver to his bottom lip.

“Laaaaance,” Hunk whines, and Lance has about three seconds where he thinks he’s won before Hunk’s lips purse, his own brows furrowing as his entire face tightens. His head snaps back forward as the light turns green, hands gripping hard at the wheel. “No, you’re not getting out of this.”

Lance groans again, wordlessly flopping back over to lean heavily against the door, arms crossing over his chest as he sinks in his seat. “Can’t we just go get these stitches removed, get milkshakes, go play games at home, and pretend like everything is fine?”

“No. Well, yes, we could, but we’re not going to because everything is _not_ fine. I know it, and you can’t hide it.”

Lance grunts, a little huff as he glares hard at the buildings they pass.

“Lance...” Hunk tries again, voice dropping, becoming soft and soothing, almost tentative in the way he approaches it. “We miss you.”

Lance shifts uncomfortably, feeling the guilt bubble in his stomach, spreading out like an itch beneath his skin. The worst part is, _he_ misses _them_ , too. “I haven’t gone anywhere...” He mumbles.

“Yes, you have.” Hunk insists. It’s gentle, but stern. Blunt because Hunk doesn’t know what subtlety is for the life of him, but goddamn if it’s not gentle all the same. “You’re pulling away from everyone. No one’s heard from you in _days_.”

“I’ve talked to them...”

“One word answers to direct questions after we tag you twelve times doesn’t count.” Hunk huffs before his voice softens again. “Dude, you’ve been pulling away from _me_. If that’s not a sign that things aren’t okay, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s just—“ He starts, but his words get caught on the lump in his throat. Great. He can feel that burn behind his eyes. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the cool of the glass against his temple and cheek as he lets out a ragged breath. “I just— don’t know how to handle it, Hunk.”

“Handle what, buddy?”

And great, there he goes being all soft hearted and _kind_ and _supportive_. And whoops, there goes Lance’s walls crumbling like they tend to do around Hunk. God _dammit_. He should have called someone else to drive him to the hospital. Anyone. He could have asked his older brother. Or his sister-in-law. Honestly, he could have rescheduled to a time where his mom could have driven him.

But no. He didn’t. And he had to call _Hunk_ of all people to give him a ride. And he knew his best friend would drop what he had to in order to help. Because that’s what best friends _do_. And he would do the same for Hunk. And now Hunk’s going to get him to spill his guts because that’s what best friends _do_.

And... and maybe that’s what he wanted all along.

Fuck. Past Lance is a smooth ass traitor, and present Lance would be a lot more impressed with himself if he wasn’t too busy trying to hold back tears.

“Everything!” He says, voice a lot louder than he was hoping for, hands flying up before his hands drop to his face, running down his cheeks with a groan of exasperation. He sinks further in his seat. “I fucked up, Hunk. I fucked up _big time_. I fucked up _everything_. I _ruined_ everything.”

“You didn’t fuck up _everything_.” Hunk tries, edging carefully into the subject.

Lance lets his hands flop down to his sides, turning his head to glare at him. “I fell off a fucking stage and broke my leg.”

Hunk’s eyes flicker to him a moment before returning to the road, lips pursing and twisting as he chooses his words. “Yeah, but you didn’t ruin _everything_.”

“Yeah, I did. I fucked up the competition for us—“

“Dude, no one cares about the competition!”

“ _I_ do! I did! It was the first one in _forever_ , and we were totally going to win! And then I had to go and show off and I _fucked it up_. We could have used the prize money! It was our friends night out! It was _Keith’s_ first time freestyling! And I—“ _Fuck_. There goes his vision. All blurry and shit. And the _voice crack_. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s a mess. He rubs at his eyes, face turned toward the window as he scowls. “I just... ruined everything. And I don’t want everyone to look at my like an idiot. I do enough of that on my own.”

He’s surprised when the car cuts across a lane, causing the driver behind them to blare their horn.

He looks at Hunk, surprised to find him glaring out the windshield, paying the angry driver no mind, expression scrunched up and hard. He turns off into a Denny’s parking lot, pulls into the closest parking space, and throws the car into park before turning to face him.

“Dude, what’re you doing? We’re going to be late—“

“No one thinks you’re an idiot.” Lance snaps his mouth shut at Hunk’s tone, angry and firm, a fire in his eyes as he turns to stare Lance down. He shrinks in his seat, leaning more against the door as he wilts under that gaze. Hunk sighs, shoulders slumping a little. “We’re just worried about you.”

Lance glances away. “I don’t want your pity either.”

“It’s not—!” Hunk makes a frustrated sound, hands going to his temples to rub them as he closes his eyes. “It’s not pity, dude. It’s friends caring about friends.”

“Hunk—“

“No, Lance. Look.” He opens his eyes, pointing at Lance with both hands, lips twisted up into a frown. “If that had been me. If I had broken my leg on that stage, embarrassed myself in front of Shay and everyone else, ruined my chances at regionals for me _and_ Pidge, and then _didn’t talk to anyone for two weeks_ , would you leave me alone?”

His lips twist into a grimace, eyes shifting to the dashboard as he huffs a quiet, “No...”

“And would you pity me? Like a bad kind of pity that’s not genuine at all, but like... a good kind of pity that’s just sympathy for a friend in pain that doesn’t mean anything besides you feeling what I’m going through?”

“No... yes? Uh, what was that question?”

“Doesn’t matter. Would you think I was an idiot?”

“No, dude, shit happens—“

“ _Exactly!_ ” He says, fingers snapping as he points at him. “Shit _happens_ , man. And it _sucks_. But we’re your _friends_. You’re allowed to be embarrassed about it, but none of us are judging you for it. We’re not gonna rub it in. We just want to be there for you, so you don’t have a shit time recovering.”

Lance sighs, glancing back at him, taking in his genuine smile, the honesty in his eyes, and he feels a small tug at the corner of his lips. “Thanks, Hunk.” He says, quiet enough that he’s not sure if Hunk could hear him. But judging from the way his smile widens, he does.

“Soooo...” Hunk prompts, leaning forward a little, eyebrows raised as he waits.

Lance sighs again, flopping his head back and staring at the ceiling. “ _Sooooo_ I’ll do a better job talking or whatever.”

“And?”

“ _And_ I won’t push you guys away anymore.”

“And?”

“And I’ll try to be more active in the group chats. But if you guys start asking me if I’m okay every five minutes, I’m out.”

“Fair enough. Aaaand?”

Lance’s eyes narrow. “What else do you want from me?”

Hunk just smiles. “Nothing, I was just seeing how long I could keep going like that.”

Lance rolls his eyes, reaching out to shove Hunk’s arm. “Just hurry up and get me to the hospital before we’re late.”

Hunk chuckles, putting the car into reverse as he pulls out of the spot. “Yeah, yeah.”

Lance flips down the visor, eyeing himself in the mirror and rubbing at his eyes, slapping at his cheeks. “I can’t believe you made me cry in a Denny’s parking lot.” He grumbles, but there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. One born from feeling at ease for the first time in weeks. “Now my eyes are gonna be all red and puffy when I get my stitches taken out.”

“You’ll survive,” Hunk says as he pulls out onto the main road. “Which, by the way, just throwing this out there, but you are _not_ showing me your stitches, and I’ll be waiting for you very firmly in the waiting room. If I see them, there’s like, an eighty-five percent chance I’ll puke, just saying. Fair warning.”

Lance leans back in his seat, propping an elbow up on the door as he smirks. “No promises.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **vive la lance** has renamed the conversation: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Salted Leg of Lance”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : uuuuuh what  
**vive la lance** : hey guys  
**LLunarGoddess** : Lance!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the prodigal son has returned  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Good to hear from you, my boy!  
**Need-A-Hand** : Hey, Lance!  
**vive la lance** : sorry to break up the flow of the convo  
**vive la lance** : hunk is just holding my milkshake hostage until I say something  
**vive la lance** : bc he says you guys are worried about me and shit  
**LLunarGoddess** : we have been!  
**Need-A-Hand** : We were just worried because we hadn’t really heard from you much since the accident  
**LLunarGoddess** : I take this to mean you’re doing well?  
**vive la lance** : uh yeah  
**vive la lance** : sorry about being mia  
**vive la lance** : its just... been a to take in you know?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Perfectly understandable, Lance. You take all the time you need to get yourself back on your feet  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Heh, get it? Feet?  
**LLunarGoddess** : Coran >.>  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Are we not at the joking stage yet?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I took the conversation name change to mean we were there, if not, I apologize  
**vive la lance** : no guys its okay  
**vive la lance** : joking about it is nice actually  
**LLunarGoddess** : be that as it may, like Coran said, you are perfectly justified in taking the time you need to heal  
**LLunarGoddess** : but it’s good to hear from you  
**Need-A-Hand** : We’re here for you no matter what, Lance. Even if it’s just to get your mind off of it  
**vive la lance** : awww guys  
**vive la lance** : making me all emotional and shit  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : how’d the appointment go btw?  
**vive la lance** : you knew about it?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah duh  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : hunk told me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : he wouldn’t let me come tho  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : “bro time” or whatever  
**vive la lance** : aw yes  
**vive la lance** : bro time  
**vive la lance** : hunk cutting across four lanes of traffic to make me cry in a dennys parking lot and then driving like a madman so we werent late  
**vive la lance** : the broest of times  
**uptown hunk** : stop making it sound so dramatic  
**uptown hunk** : it was like, one lane of traffic  
**vive la lance** : but to answer your question it was fine  
**vive la lance** : I am stitches free  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : did you get a picture? was it gross looking? show me  
**uptown hunk** : ooooh no, no no no  
**uptown hunk** : lance don’t you dare send that picture  
**vive la lance** : just jump outta the chat for a minute buddy

 **vive la lance** has sent an image

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : sick!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Impressive  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : those are some gnarly looking stitches, dude  
**vive la lance** : I know  
**vive la lance** : I didnt get a good look at them after the surgery so this was the first time I saw them  
**LLunarGoddess** : did it hurt getting them removed?  
**vive la lance** : nope  
**vive la lance** : felt a little weird tho  
**fuck off** : lance got his stitches removed?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : did you see the pic? looks worse than that time you crashed your bike  
**Need-A-Hand** : You crashed your bike?  
**fuck off** : .... no?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh right  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : forget I said anything  
**Need-A-Hand** : You know what? I don’t even want to know  
**fuck off** : so hows it feel, lance?  
**vive la lance** : uh stiff mostly  
**vive la lance** : Ill be in a boot for a while  
**vive la lance** : like... six weeks?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : daaaang  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I take it that’s with crutches? No pressure?  
**vive la lance** : yeah  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that sucks, dude  
**Need-A-Hand** : I’m sorry, Lance  
**LLunarGoddess** : if there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to let us know  
**vive la lance** : its no biggie  
**vive la lance** : its fine  
**vive la lance** : all cool here  
**vive la lance** : just gotta mooch rides for a while since I cant drive with it  
**Need-A-Hand** : That means no taking Lance for rides on your bike, Keith  
**vive la lance** : why would he do that?  
**uptown hunk** : keith offered to take you to the hospital if I couldn’t, but, you know, he has a bike and everything, so it would be kinda hard  
**vive la lance** : oh  
**fuck off** : I would have borrowed shiro’s car  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you could have held your crutches out and did motorcycle jousting  
**uptown hunk** : HA  
**uptown hunk** : holding them out like lances  
**uptown hunk** : lance with a lance  
**vive la lance** : we get it hunk  
**Need-A-Hand** : I can’t condone this with good conscious  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : We tried that once in my college days. Though we used umbrellas  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : It’s all good fun until you hit the ground  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : But what’s a little road rash in a game of bike jousting?  
**fuck off** : are you guys going back to hunk and pidges?  
**uptown hunk** : yeah, once we pick pidge up some nuggets  
**uptown hunk** : we’re in the drive thru now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you are a fucking god send  
**fuck off** : I just got off work, can I come by?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : sure  
**vive la lance** : actually I gotta go home!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you do?  
**uptown hunk** : lance what’re you talking about  
**uptown hunk** : OH RIGHT  
**uptown hunk** : he does  
**uptown hunk** : totally  
**uptown hunk** : I forgot about that  
**uptown hunk** : right  
**vive la lance** : dial it back buddy  
**uptown hunk** : sorry  
**vive la lance** : yeah I forgot I have stuff to do at home today  
**vive la lance** : important stuff  
**uptown hunk** : yeah so I’ll just be taking him home  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : goddammit, my nuggs are gonna get cold  
**vive la lance** : sorry keith  
**vive la lance** : raincheck?  
**fuck off** : yeah, okay

 

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Salted Leg of Lance”**

 **LLunarGoddess** : so, theoretically, if I were an alpha and Shiro were an omega, would he have my pups?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : theoretically, yes, I think?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I suppose it depends on the laws of the universe we’re abiding by to determine whether or not alpha females can impregnate  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m gonna go with yes, you can  
**LLunarGoddess** : wonderful  
**LLunarGoddess** : Shiro will you have my pups  
**Need-A-Hand** : I have regrets  
**uptown hunk** : I still think shiro would be an alpha  
**uptown hunk** : he’s like... the epitome of manliness, and he’s big and stuff  
**uptown hunk** : aren’t alphas supposed to be big?  
**vive la lance** : hunk buddy ol pal  
**vive la lance** : those are just stereotypes and cliches  
**vive la lance** : I mean look at you  
**vive la lance** : youre a big guy but youre the most betaist beta to ever beta  
**uptown hunk** : I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult  
**vive la lance** : deff a compliment  
**vive la lance** : no shame in being a beta dude  
**uptown hunk** : okay, I’ll take it  
**vive la lance** : my point is let big dudes be omegas if they want to be  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what’d you think, shiro? alpha or omega?  
**Need-A-Hand** : I really don’t want to have a say in this conversation  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : then we’re gonna assign a role for you  
**Need-A-Hand** : Does a role need to be assigned at all?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes  
**LLunarGoddess** : yes  
**vive la lance** : yes  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I think it might come down to his role and demeanor in the bedroom, wouldn’t you say?  
**vive la lance** : stereotypes coran  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Drat  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that being said, it’s a good a way as any to settle this debate  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : allura?  
**LLunarGoddess** : omega  
**LLunarGoddess** : he’s an omega  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : lmAO  
**vive la lance** : oooo ho ho ho  
**uptown hunk** : I... really didn’t need to know that  
**LLunarGoddess** : I didn’t give you any details  
**uptown hunk** : the implications are enough  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Be glad you don’t live with one of them  
**Need-A-Hand** : Someone kill me  
**fuck off** : sometimes I tab back into this chat and wonder why I exist  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : KEITH  
**Need-A-Hand** : Run  
**Need-A-Hand** : Run far away  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : settle something for us  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : in an abo universe, is lance a beta or omega?  
**fuck off** : I  
**fuck off** : what  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : don’t give me that shit  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I know you know what abo is  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : we already had the Keith and Shiro’s Intro to What the Hell ABO Is convo  
**fuck off** : yeah and I really wish we hadn’t  
**Need-A-Hand** : Same  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so lance, beta or omega?  
**LLunarGoddess** : he’s totally an omega  
**vive la lance** : hey!  
**vive la lance** : I would totally be an alpha  
**LLunarGoddess** : not quite  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah no  
**uptown hunk** : sorry buddy  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I believe they’re right, Lance, but there’s no shame in that  
**uptown hunk** : keith would totally be an alpha tho  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh yeah  
**LLunarGoddess** : definitely  
**vive la lance** : why does HE get to be an alpha??  
**uptown hunk** : because he just... IS  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : agreed  
**LLunarGoddess** : it’s hard to explain, but he gives off a very... ALPHA aura  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : actually idk  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I could see him being a power bottom dominate omega  
**Need-A-Hand** : Please never say that about my brother in my presence again  
**fuck off** : I remember when you used to be pure  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you know what’s pure? my foot up your ass  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : A tiny beta with an alpha bite  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so what’d you think, keith?  
**fuck off** : I think I need someone to shoot me  
**Need-A-Hand** : If you shoot me, I’ll shoot you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : not until we settle this  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so lance, beta or omega?  
**fuck off** : do I have to choose?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yes, everyone has to vote  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and you and lance are closer than a lot of us  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : very close  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so what’s the verdict  
**fuck off** : ....  
**fuck off** : omega  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : called it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ....  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : .............  
**uptown hunk** : ???  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ....................  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : really?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : nothing?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith just said you were an omega and you’ve got no snappy comebacks?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you were all about yelling and me, hunk, and allura earlier  
**vive la lance** : actually I gotta go  
**vive la lance** : sophia needs help  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : oh  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay?  
**uptown hunk** : bye buddy  
**vive la lance** : later  
**fuck off** : did I say something wrong?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no, you just agreed with the rest of us  
**uptown hunk** : it’s not you, man  
**fuck off** : mmmm  
**uptown hunk** : don’t take it to heart, okay?  
**fuck off** : ok  
**Need-A-Hand** : Can we move on from this conversation now, please?  
**LLunarGoddess** : not a chance

 

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat:   **“Family BBQ - Today’s Menu: Salted Leg of Lance”**

 **LLunarGoddess** : I’m going to need a lot of wine after this week  
**LLunarGoddess** : like, a LOT of wine  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : And for her next trick, ladies and gentlemen, the lovely Allura will make three bottles of wine disappear! All by herself!  
**uptown hunk** : that is one impressive trick  
**vive la lance** : I do believe in magic I do I do  
**LLunarGoddess** : that’s me  
**LLunarGoddess** : the wine wizard  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the alcoholic alchemist  
**Need-A-Hand** : I second this statement  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : the alcoholic alchemist or drowning yourself in wine?  
**Need-A-Hand** : Honestly? Both  
**uptown hunk** : rough week at work?  
**Need-A-Hand** : You don’t know the half of it  
**LLunarGoddess** : understatement of the year  
**vive la lance** : you know what we should do?  
**LLunarGoddess** : start our own company  
**uptown hunk** : what kind of company?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : one that makes money  
**uptown hunk** : shit that’s a good idea  
**vive la lance** : WE SHOULD HAVE A MOVIE NIGHT  
**uptown hunk** : a classic movie night? With booze and food and pajamas and terrible movies?  
**vive la lance** : is there any other kind?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m down to get crunk  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : midterms can suck my ass  
**vive la lance** : pidge are you even old enough to drink  
**vive la lance** : youre like twelve  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : CHOKE ON A JOLLY RANCHER YOU MUFFIN TOP  
**LLunarGoddess** : I think a movie night sounds like a lovely idea  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Agreed!  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : It’s been a while since we’ve had some good old fashioned bonding time  
**Need-A-Hand** : Matt and I can host  
**vive la lance** : of course youre hosting  
**uptown hunk** : you have the biggest tv  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : neither of you have any say in the matter  
**Need-A-Hand** : Good to know  
**fuck off** : if I punch a customer in the face, do you think I’ll get fired or written up?  
**uptown hunk** : depends how hard you hit them  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Depends on the mess, such as blood, teeth, viscera, ect  
**LLunarGoddess** : depends on if they fight back  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : depends on if they deserved it  
**Need-A-Hand** : Rough day at work?  
**fuck off** : what gave it away  
**Need-A-Hand** : Seems to be the general consensus around here.  
**LLunarGoddess** : movie night is sounding better and better  
**fuck off** : movie night?  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : A time honored tradition  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : we get together with food, drinks, and watch shitty movies in our pajamas until we pass out on Shiro’s floor  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you in?  
**fuck off** : sure  
**fuck off** : when is it?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : this weekend?  
**uptown hunk** : we can do it saturday, and sunday can be for homework  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : as always  
**Need-A-Hand** : Allura and I get off work at five  
**fuck off** : I get off work at six then I can drive over  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : I have some things to do at the studio, but I’ll be around by seven thirty!  
**uptown hunk** : cool, so when do you want me to pick you up lance?  
**vive la lance** : actually I think I’m gonna pass  
**uptown hunk** : uh what?  
**LLunarGoddess** : Lance?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : dude it was YOUR idea  
**vive la lance** : I know I know  
**vive la lance** : I just remembered I have a thing this weekend  
**vive la lance** : family thing  
**vive la lance** : cant get out of it  
**vive la lance** : sorry  
**vive la lance** : have fun! gotta go moms calling for dinner bye  
**uptown hunk** : o…kay?  
**LLunarGoddess** : oh dear  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what the FUCK  
**fuck off** : ….  
**fuck off** : maybe it’s best if I don’t go this weekend either  
**LLunarGoddess** : Keith no, we want you there  
**Need-A-Hand** : Keith, it’ll be fine  
**uptown hunk** : yeah dude, we want you there  
**fuck off** : I… don’t think lance does  
**uptown hunk** : nooooo no no no he totally does  
**fuck off** : he’s got a weird way of showing it  
**fuck off** : it’s fine, I have stuff I should do  
**fuck off** : or something  
**fuck off** : I’ll talk to you guys later  
**Need-A-Hand** : Take care  
**LLunarGoddess** : bye Keith  
**uptown hunk** : later buddy  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : ………  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I’m going to murder them  
**I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul** : Well…. that was a bit awkward  
**LLunarGoddess** : this is unfortunate :(  
**Need-A-Hand** : They just need time  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : jesusssss  
**uptown hunk** : oh maaaan  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : what a fucking mess

 

 

* * *

 

 

Group Chat: **“Titanic Take Me”**

 **coo coo motherfuckers** : okay lance, what the FUCK  
**vive la lance** : what the fuck WHAT??  
**vive la lance** : whatd I dO?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith  
**vive la lance** : idk what youre talking about  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : bullshit  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re treating keith like shit and it needs to stop  
**vive la lance** : I am not!  
**uptown hunk** : you kinda are buddy  
**vive la lance** : I barely talk to him!  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, that’s the point, dumbass  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you duck out of the gc every time he shows up  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you avoid being with us if he’s there  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and you’re not really subtle about it  
**vive la lance** : do you...think he’s noticed?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : NO FUCKING SHIT HE’S NOTICED LANCE  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : YOU AIN’T SUBTLE AND HE’S NOT STUPID  
**vive la lance** : uuuuuuuugh  
**uptown hunk** : dude, what’s up?  
**uptown hunk** : you’ve finally gotten better about talking to all of us again, so why won’t you talk to keith?  
**uptown hunk** : honestly, I thought he would be the one you were looking forward to talking to the most  
**uptown hunk** : you know, bc of your crush and everything  
**vive la lance** : that’s the prOBLEM  
**vive la lance** : my big dumb crush keEPS ME from talking to him  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : that makes  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : literally no sense  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’re WAY past the whole “embarrassed to talk to my crush” thing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you jumped right past that into sucking face  
**uptown hunk** : and dick  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and dick  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and now you’re BEING a dick  
**vive la lance** : its not  
**vive la lance** : im not  
**vive la lance** : uuuUUUUUUGH  
**vive la lance** : UUUUUGH  
**vive la lance** : UUUGHA;DFJAD;LJF;ALDKJF  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : go ahead, get it out of your system  
**uptown hunk** : let it out  
**vive la lance** : fuuUUUCKJD:LKFJS:LKFJS:DLFJ  
**vive la lance** : adlkfa;dkfjaldfja  
**vive la lance** : uuuuUUUUUUGH  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : feeling better?  
**vive la lance** : no  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : good, so tell us what the fuck is up with you  
**vive la lance** : its just  
**vive la lance** : mmMMMMMM  
**vive la lance** : jesus okay  
**vive la lance** : I just  
**vive la lance** : I really fucking like him  
**uptown hunk** : mhmm  
**uptown hunk** : we knew that already  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you’ve got a pretty shitty way of showing it right now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : do you stILL like him?  
**vive la lance** : YES  
**vive la lance** : JESUS FUCK  
**vive la lance** : but I really just  
**vive la lance** : I fucked everything up  
**uptown hunk** : lance  
**uptown hunk** : we already talked about this  
**vive la lance** : no hunk this is different  
**vive la lance** : look  
**vive la lance** : I didnt just fuck up MY chance at regionals  
**vive la lance** : I fucked up KEITHS shot at regionals  
**vive la lance** : regionals is a BIG FUCKING DEAL okay?  
**vive la lance** : and keith has never been  
**vive la lance** : and we were going to go together  
**vive la lance** : and then because I was a show off I fucked it up for both of us  
**vive la lance** : I wouldnt be surprised if he hates me  
**vive la lance** : or at least resents me  
**vive la lance** : and I really  
**vive la lance** : idk if I can face that yet  
**vive la lance** : I might have fucked up US  
**vive la lance** : I already fucked up regionals and I dont want to lose keith too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : look  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I get where you’re coming from, I really do  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but can I be blunt?  
**vive la lance** : are you ever anything but?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : good point  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : if you keep this up, you’re gonna lose keith anyway  
**uptown hunk** : they’re right, dude  
**uptown hunk** : he’s smart  
**uptown hunk** : he knows you’re avoiding him, and he thinks you’re mad at him  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : or that you’re not interested in him anymore  
**uptown hunk** : and that your only interest in him was for dancing  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and now that you don’t have that, you’re not into him  
**vive la lance** : WAIT WAIT WIAT  
**vive la lance** : WHAT???  
**vive la lance** : DID HE TELL YOU ALL THIS??  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : not in so many words  
**uptown hunk** : not in any words, really  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but I know keith, and I know that’s where his mind is spiraling  
**uptown hunk** : if you really like him, you gotta do something about it  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : like pronto  
**vive la lance** : UUUUUGH  
**vive la lance** : fuck  
**vive la lance** : Im fucking up aGAIN  
**vive la lance** : just fucking bury me and get it over with  
**uptown hunk** : no can do, buddy  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you gotta fix this first  
**vive la lance** : but hOW??  
**uptown hunk** : you could always start by talking to him?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : tell him what you told us  
**vive la lance** : I CAN’T DO THAT  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : why the fuck not?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you told us before that telling him how you feel could ruin your partnership and shit for regionals  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : well now you’re not going to regionals, hobble foot  
**vive la lance** : ouch  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : deal with it, I’m mad at you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : now you have no reason to hold back  
**vive la lance** : but I ruined things for him...  
**uptown hunk** : dude, keith doesn’t CARE about regionals  
**uptown hunk** : well, okay, he CARES  
**uptown hunk** : but not like that  
**uptown hunk** : right now he cares more about YOU  
**uptown hunk** : he was the most impatient one of us when you stopped answering our messages  
**vive la lance** : really?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah, he was fucking impatient as shit, even when we told him to just give you some space  
**uptown hunk** : I know you’re embarrassed, man, and I know you’ve got a lot going on  
**uptown hunk** : but right now, keith is the one hurting, and you’re the one hurting him  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : SO SQUARE THE FUCK UP  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : because I’m tired of watching you two fucking beat around a dead ass bush  
**vive la lance** : okay  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : okay?  
**vive la lance** : Ill... get better at talking to him  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : talk TO him, directly  
**vive la lance** : thats akwaaaaaard  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : deal with it  
**uptown hunk** : you could try talking to him at the movie night this weekend? clear the air?  
**vive la lance** : do you think that’ll be enough? just... telling him all this?  
**uptown hunk** : it’s a start  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : look lance  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : I love you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : so take what I’m about to say seriously and then forget I said I love you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you fucked up  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : NOT because you broke your leg, but because of how you’re acting now  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : you hurt keith by avoiding him when he was the closest person to you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no offense, hunk  
**uptown hunk** : none taken. I wasn’t the one touching his dick  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : keith likes you, dude  
**vive la lance** : wait  
**vive la lance** : wait wait wait  
**vive la lance** : he does?? like reALLY?? no bullshit?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : no bullshit, and I’m only telling you this so you’ll get your head out of your ass  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : and please, like it wasn’t completely obvious  
**vive la lance** : yeah but... it’s one thing to think it and another to hear that he toLD you  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : yeah well, he told me  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but right now, idk how he feels  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : if you’re serious about him, square the fuck up, tell him how you feel, apologize, and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT  
**vive la lance** : like what?  
**vive la lance** : like flowers or chocolates or a stuffed bear that says I’m sorry?  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : idk and idc  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : figure it out  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : but do it soon or I’m going to kick your ass for fucking with my friend’s feelings  
**vive la lance** : Im your friend too  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : then I’m gonna kick your ass twice as hard for fucking with both your own feelings and keith’s  
**uptown hunk** : we believe in you, lance  
**uptown hunk** : you’ve got this  
**uptown hunk** : just remember what we talked about, okay?  
**vive la lance** : okay  
**vive la lance** : okay okay okay  
**vive la lance** : thanks guys  
**vive la lance** : I’ve... got a lot to think about  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : damn right you do  
**coo coo motherfuckers** : now go get ‘em, lover boy

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he was ten, Keith found an injured crow on his way home from school.

He isn’t sure how long he spent crouched in the grass, trying to coax the bird to him with leftover popcorn from his lunch. It had taken patience. Far more than he thought his young self was capable of. But time seemed irrelevant, slipping away like sand through his fingers, as navy eyes stared into those cautious but curious inky depths.

Eventually the bird came to him, and he bundled it up in his hoodie before hurrying home.

Shiro hadn’t been pleased. Their parents, even less so. But after a lot of angry shouting, the crow panicking and getting loose in the house, and a lot of urgent whispers while Keith coaxed the bird back to him, they had given into his watery-eyed pleas.

It required a lot of research, but eventually they managed to bind the bird’s wing and found a cage for it to sleep in overnight. It was an unorthodox form of family bonding, but bonding nonetheless.

There were few things that intrigued Keith like that bird. He was fascinated. Transfixed. Captivated. Every waking moment was spent thinking about his new friend.

He didn’t have many of those. Friends. But the crow didn’t tease him. Didn’t call him names or laugh when he didn’t understand something right away. Didn’t leave him to play with the other kids. Didn’t ignore him. Didn’t think he was weird or too quiet or not normal.

It seemed to visibly perk up when Keith came home. Only listened to him. Only took food from him. Even played with him by stealing his legos or rolling around on a slide Keith had made from sheets.

For a short time, that bird was the main source of his happiness. But as he would soon learn, all good things came to an end. All movies had end credits. All games had an ending screen. Vacations all ended with the return to normal life. Every dessert could be finished. Every holiday passed.

Things broke. People left.

Eventually, the bird’s wings healed, and when that time came, his parents told him he had to let the bird go.

He fought, of course. And he lost, of course.

It was Shiro who eventually got him to unlock his door. Shiro who sat with him on his bed as he stroked inky wings. Shiro who held him while he cried. Shiro who convinced him it was the right thing to do.

While his new friend had been just that, his friend, and while it had seemed content to hop around his room, picking at his hair, messing with his things, the crow was not a pet. It was a wild animal. And as such, it didn’t belong with them. It wasn’t fair for him to keep the bird. It wouldn’t have been as happy with him. It needed and deserved to fly free, to spread its wings, to be with its own kind.

It was no doubt grateful to him, in its own way, but it wouldn’t have been happy with Keith. Not in the long run.

So with his family at his side, giving him soft encouragements, he bundled up his friend and took it outside. Tear stained cheeks. Red puffy eyes. He unraveled the blanket and bent down, letting the bird hop out into the grass.

Part of him had foolishly hoped, had _believed_ that the bird loved him just as much as he loved it. Had thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , the bird wouldn’t want to leave. That it would stay.

That foolish hope was dashed the moment it’s beautiful dark wings spread and it flew away.

For a while he got gifts on his doorstep. Small things. Shiny things. Paperclips. Lost earrings. Coins. Wrappers. He saw some crows hanging around near his home, and wondered if one of them had been his, but it was impossible to tell. In the end, the bird never came back.

It was a wild thing. A beautiful thing. Keith realized that his desire to keep it was a selfish one. His desire to keep it for himself, to lock it away, to force it to be happy with him simply because he, himself, was. It was selfish. Wild things needed to be free. Beautiful things couldn’t be contained. They needed to soar, and Keith could only be a ball and chain.

Deep in his chest, in a place locked away, a place that rarely saw the light of day, where shadows lurked and everything ached, Keith knows that he doesn’t deserve wild and beautiful things.

Lance, he thinks, is wild and beautiful.

Like with the bird, Keith appreciates his time with him. Will treasure it. WIll keep the memories safe and secure, only to be pulled out once the pain fades, to look at through the rosey glasses of nostalgia.

But also like that bird, Lance’s time with Keith was always meant to be short lived. The bird had only been with him, played with him, lived with him, until it had healed. It may have enjoyed Keith’s presence, but Keith himself was only temporary. A means to an end. Useful in the moment.

Without the promise of regionals ahead of them, Keith’s usefulness has run out again.

Like that crow, if Lance wants to fly away from Keith, there’s nothing he can do to stop him. It’s not fair to force him to stay. To lock him away and demand what he wants. It’s not fair. You can’t contain wild and beautiful things by force.

Lance is a wild and beautiful thing, and Keith should have known better than to let him in, to let himself be drawn by that light, to let himself bask in it. Fascinated. Transfixed. Captivated.

All good things come to an end.

Things break.

People leave.

And Keith is left with nothing but memories that hurt, even as he gazes at them through a pair of cracked, rose-tinted glasses.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He isn’t sure when it happened. When Lance had managed to wedge himself into every aspect of Keith’s life. Weaseled his way into every nook and cranny until no where was free of his stupidly handsome face, pretty blue eyes, and heart achingly sincere laugh. Everything reminds him of Lance, and it’s really, really fucking annoying.

Altea Studios is a given, and he’s honestly been avoiding the place since the incident. He’s tried to go a couple times, but the halls just feel lonely without Lance shoving his shoulder and room 4D feels colder without his smile. It’s not exactly a great feeling, and he finds it hard to lose himself in the music when the entire building is just an unpleasant reminder that Lance is avoiding him.

So he just... kind of stops going.

Without his usual outlet and safe place, he’s left feeling restless, anxious, and agitated, like an itch he can’t quite scratch, but he compensates by going to the gym. As long as he avoids looking at the windows that look down at the pool, he’s usually fine. But even that place is tainted by Lance’s presence.

His phone is ruined. It just reminds him of days spent talking to Lance and eagerly waiting for responses. And the fact that he’s not getting responses now.

Even his apartment has traces of memories. Though Lance has never been there, his presence lingers. It lingers in the couch where Keith would lounge and text him about whatever show he was watching. It lingers in the kitchen where he’s talked with Lance over the phone while making food. It lingers at his desk, where he’s played games with him. It lingers in his bed, in the late nights spent falling asleep with Lance’s name on his phone screen and waking up to texts.

He hadn’t realized just how constant a presence Lance was in his life until he was suddenly gone, leaving Keith feel like he’s had something ripped out of him. Leaving him feeling hollow without any way to fill the gap.

Keith is used to being alone. Or at least, he used to be. Now he doesn’t like it. Now the silence weighs in on him. Now the space feels too big. Now he feels restless and anxious.

He doesn’t like it, but he supposes that doesn’t really matter.

It is what it is. If Lance doesn’t want him in his life anymore, then... then it’s fine.

Keith’s fine.

Or at least, he will be.

Not even work is safe. He finds himself constantly looking over his shoulder. Finds his eyes drifting toward the doors. Find his attention whipping around at the slightest glance of brown hair and tan skin. Feels his heart stutter when someone laughs too loud before the near instant disappointment that it’s not the _right_ laugh.

He hates that he goes into work every day with the bubbling, nervous hope that Lance might pick up his old habit of showing up during Keith’s shift. Only to leave work with that hope turning sour and bitter in his gut.

He hates getting his hopes up. It always just leads to disappointment. But that’s what Lance is good at. Getting Keith’s hopes up. Raising his spirits. Taking his monochrome and static existence and bringing color. Bringing light. Bringing music. Making him _enjoy_ things, life, friends, company, in ways he never really had before.

Making him _happy_.

And then over the course of one night, he takes that all away, leaving Keith right back where he started but with a taste of what life _could_ be that makes it impossible to go back.

What an asshole.

Truth be told, he’s _pissed_. As much as he’s moping, and he _knows_ he’s moping, he’s also mad as hell. He’s mad because Lance just cut off communication with all of them. He’s pissed that even though Lance started opening up again, he still keeps Keith at arms length. He’s _furious_ because he was fucking _worried_. He was _scared_ for Lance. He wanted nothing more than to wrap him up and help him through all of this, but Lance just pushed him away instead.

He’s mad because he thought they had something. He thought what they had wasn’t this fragile. He’s mad because he believed that in the first place.

But as much as he wants to punch him in the goddamn mouth, he also wants to fucking _kiss_ that goddamn mouth. And _that’s_ what’s really infuriating. The fact that while he wants to be mad, wants to push him away just as much as he’s being pushed, he knows all he really wants is to have Lance back. For things to go back to the way they were. For all of this to be a nightmare.

He’s fucking _pissed_ , but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s weak for Lance.

He’s busy shelving, crouched in front of the shelves and spending far too long straightening books and aligning them because his energy levels are at critical low, and if he’s being honest, he’s brooding. The girls at the cafe gave him a free coffee this morning when he came in because they said he looked like he needed it, and his boss put him on shelving and hasn’t bothered him since.

So he’s just shelving. Slowly. Methodically. One earbud in and music playing loud enough to lose himself in it.

He’s zoning, fingers tapping books and lips mouthing along with the lyrics, when he feels a presence hovering behind him. He bites the inside of his cheek, movements stilling as he silently pleads with the person to move on. Hopefully they’re just trying to look at the books around them. He _really_ doesn’t want to interact with customers.

A traitorous part of him perks up, sending bubbles through his gut and clenching around his heart as he wonders if maybe, just maybe, it might be Lance.

But then there’s a throat clearing behind him, soft and hesitant. Awkward. Great. Lance wouldn’t do that. Neither would his coworkers.

He closes his eyes briefly, sighing through his nose as he stands.

An annoyed scowl settles onto his features as he turns, but his whatever snappy words rise up his throat promptly die on his tongue. “Shiro?”

Shiro stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, posture awkward, shoulders raised just a little too high. He looks sheepish as he smiles, lifting a hand in a stiff wave. “Hi.”

Keith’s frown deepens, brows pinching as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his weight to one side. “What’re you doing here?”

The free hand runs through his hair, scratching at the back of his neck. “Do I need an excuse to come see my little brother at work?”

Keith doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Shiro’s hand drops back to his side with a shrug. “Maybe I’m just here to buy a book?”

Yeah, like he hasn’t heard that one before. From Lance, specifically. “You always make me pick up books for you.”

“Maybe I needed it right now?” His sheepishness fades as he rises to the challenge, used to years of these kind of back and forths with Keith.

Keith arches an eyebrow, turning his head slowly to pointedly look at all the books around them before giving Shiro a flat stare. “In this aisle?”

Shiro glances around, face contorting as he seems to realize that he had found Keith stocking the manga aisle. The fight for control to keep his face indifferent and blank is laughable. “Yes...” He says, far too slowly to be convincing. He steps forward and reaches out, fingers hesitating for only a moment before snatching a book from the shelf. “This one.” He opens it and riffles through it a bit, and the sight of him trying to keep his expression under control has Keith cracking a small smile.

He lets that smile turn into a smirk as he says. “You’re reading that backwards.”

“Oh,” Is all he says, mouth falling into a small _O_ as his eyebrows raise. Then he shrugs, closing the book and carefully putting it back on the shelf. “Doesn’t matter. I changed my mind.”

“Sure you did,” Keith says dryly, then sighs, tilting his head back and lifting his gaze to the ceiling. He knows there’s really only one reason Shiro would corner him at work. And he knows because it’s the same subject Shiro has been hounding him about for days. The same one Keith has been avoiding. “Look, Shiro, if this is about Saturday—“

“Speaking of Saturday—“

“I’m not going.” He finishes sternly, lowering his gaze to give Shiro a flat look. One he hopes his firm in conviction. One that’s unwavering in indifference. One that says _get the fuck out of my place of work before I kick your ass and lose my job_.

He’s not sure if it doesn’t work, or if Shiro is just immune. “I think you should reconsider.” He says gently, tilting his head and giving Keith his soft look, lips tilted up into a small open smile. _Ugh_. He _knows_ Keith hates disappointing him when he looks like that. “We all want you there.”

At that Keith scoffs, turning around to aimlessly straighten the books left on his cart. “Not everyone...” He grumbles.

“Keith—“

“It’s _fine_ , Shiro.” He snaps, fingers curling into fists, turning white around the knuckles, blunt and chewed nails biting into his palms. He breathes deep, straightening his back and lifting his chin. He’s _fine_. “He obviously doesn’t want me around.”

“I don’t think—“

“Leave it, Shiro.” He turns abruptly, intent on stomping off to the next section and dragging his book cart behind him. But he only gets a couple steps before nearly running into someone. He stumbles back, blinking as he regains his balance, frown dropping as he tries to absorb the fact that Pidge is standing in front of him.

They don’t look bothered or thrown off balance at all, despite the fact that Keith had practically run into them. They just stand there, one hand in their hoodie pocket while the other holds some kind of frozen coffee drink topped with far too much whipped cream. They idly sip from the straw, eyes eerily blank as they stare him down.

He’s seen Pidge in this bookstore. He’s seen Shiro in this bookstore. He’s seen Pidge and Shrio together. They’re practically family. But he’s never seen them both together in this bookstore. At the same time. Cornering him.

His eyes narrow, lips pursing as he glares at them. The only reaction is a slow raising of one eyebrow. Keith’s frown deepens as he turns to glare over his shoulder at Shiro. “Seriously?” Shiro just shrugs, sheepish smile returning. “Since when do you two gang up on me?” He asks, turning his glare back to Pidge.

They finally release their straw, tilting the cup to point at him with it. “Since we both agreed you need your ass kicked.”

Keith rolls his eyes, reaching behind him to grab the handle of the book cart. He only manages to drag it a couple steps before it abruptly stops, jerking his hand back. He stops, then turns to glare where Pidge has their foot against one of the cart’s wheels. They’re staring at him again, expression blank and unamused, idly sipping their drink.

“I’m working,” He tries, putting a warning behind his words.

Pidge remains unphased. “You’re coming Saturday.” He scoffs, opening his mouth to protest when they cut him off. “And _don’t_ pick up any extra shifts to get out of it.”

He snaps his mouth shut. He hadn’t thought about that, but he probably would have given time to actually think of a way out of it. Pidge knows him better than he knows himself.

“I really don’t think it’ll be as bad as you think it will be.” Shiro says, coming up beside him and laying a heavy hand over his shoulder. He squeezes, and Keith knows it’s supposed to be comforting. Unfortunately, it just feels like he’s trapped.

He looks up at him, feeling something in him starting to crumble and crack when faced with Shiro’s face, open and honest and genuine. He really thinks it’ll be okay, but Keith really does _not_. “ _Shiro_ ,” He says, hating the whine in his voice, but unable to help it. He puts a lot into that one word. All the things he’s feeling but doesn’t know how to articular. Inklings of his fear, his hurt, how much he _really doesn’t want to go and face Lance’s rejection_. “I— He—“ He feels himself falling apart, piece by piece, frustrating burn behind his eyes and a lump in his throat keeping him from forming complete sentences.

He sees Shiro’s brows furrow, sees his smile drop, sees the concern flicker across his face. Keith _really_ doesn’t want to have a break down at work, and he silently _pleads_ with Shiro to just _let it go_.

“Listen,” Pidge says, cutting in before either of them can go too far down that road. They both snap their attention to them. Pidge stares at him hard. “You’re not the only one getting an ass kicking. Hunk and I already laid into Lance pretty hard.”

Something akin to panic starts to well up in his chest, but Shiro is there, squeezing his shoulder and keeping him grounded. “You don’t have to forgive him. You can be mad at him. Your anger is justified.” He says, voice calm, even, soothing. It helps Keith breathe.

“You can even beat him up afterwards in the parking lot if you want to.” Pidge adds. Then their whole face softens, giving him that soft, pleading, worried look that they so rarely pull out but is so, so potent when the do. “But just... hear him out, okay?”

Keith shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the floor, to the shelves around them. His grip on the cart handle tightens briefly. He huffs, feeling himself deflate with it. “He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want to talk to me.” It comes out less like the aggravated grumble he was aiming for, and more... small. Vulnerable. He hates it.

“Just let him explain—“ Shiro starts, calm and reasonable.

It makes something ugly and angry flare in Keith’s chest. “There’s nothing to _explain_. I get it. I do. He doesn’t need me anymore now that regionals is off the table, and it’s not his fault that I thought we were closer than we actually—“

“No. You _don’t_ get it.” Pidge says, stepping forward and jabbing a finger into his chest. Their voice is fierce, hissing, frustration burning in their amber gaze. Keith feels himself flinch back. “You’re just jumping to conclusions just like he is.”

Keith absently rubs at the spot on his chest. It aches, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. “What do you—“

“He thinks you’re mad at him for ruining regionals.”

Keith just stares at them for a moment, brows furrowing and lips twisting. He doesn’t— He wouldn’t— “What?” He says, soft and confused, before anger starts to burn in his chest. _That’s_ the reason why Lance is avoiding him? Of all the stupid, idiotic— “I’m not!” He says, words bursting out of him before he can stop them, probably a little too loud given how Shiro squeezes his shoulder again. He glares at Pidge, like somehow he might be able to glare _through_ them right into Lance’s own stupid— “That’s _stupid!_ ”

Pidge nods, taking a step backwards to turn to the side, idly gazing down at their nails as they sip from their drink. “Stupid kinda like you thinking he’d abandon you just because you guys can’t go to regionals together?”

They look up at him through the corner of their eyes, chin lifted slightly, lips tugging up at the corners into a smug little smirk.

Keith huffs, blowing air up towards his bangs and pointedly looking away as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I get it.” He says flatly, and this time, he means it. And this time, they believe him.

Pidge nods once. Decisive. Satisfied. “Good. So you’ll come Saturday?”

Keith sighs through his nose and instead says, “I’m still mad at him.”

But all three of them know that he’ll end up going.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He takes the long way to Shiro’s apartment.

He hadn’t meant to, but as he pulled out of the parking lot at work, he turned right instead of left. He has his overnight bag stowed in the compartment under his seat, leather jacket heavy and comforting on his shoulders. The world through the tinted visor is familiar, simpler, puts him in a mindset that allows him to push everything else away.

He had meant to head straight to Shiro’s after work, but with his bike beneath him, rumbling in his ears and vibrations rattling through his bones. With the wind biting at the exposed tips of his fingers and his neck, playing with the strands of hair that curl out from beneath his helmet. With the road in front of him and the flashing of lights in his eyes. He makes a different turn.

Then another.

And another.

He simply needs time. Time to decompress from work. Time to soothe his rattled nerves. Time to simply _be_. Exist. Let himself go. Let himself just _breathe_.

So he drives through the streets as the sun sets, never taking the same road twice, weaving his way through the city, edging closer and closer to Shiro’s apartment. He can feel himself drawn there, like being tugged by an invisible wire, slowly but surely, no matter how much he resists. So he takes his time, enjoys the ride, until the chill begins to seep in and he can feel his phone blowing up in his pocket.

When he finally pulls into the familiar parking lot, he can see the others’ cars are already there. He finds them before he even realizes that he’s looking for them. He parks between Hunk’s gold Buick and Coran’s blue Jetta, taking off his helmet and pulling out his phone. There’s a variety of messages, mostly from Pidge and Shiro, ranging from pleas to threats.

With a sigh of defeat and a fleeting glance toward the stars, he squares his shoulders, tucks his helmet under his arm, bag strap over his shoulder, and marches up the stairs.

By the time he reaches Shiro’s door, his fight or flight instincts are in full swing. Adrenaline runs through his veins, making his knees shake and his stomach twist. His heart is hammering, bruising and painful. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reaches out, fingers curling around the doorknob before he can run.

The moment the door opens, he’s swept up into a flurry of sound and movement. The apartment opens up to the kitchen, where Hunk is standing in front of the stove, apron on and watching over several pots at once. Allura is crouched at his feet, peering intently into the oven. Shiro stands nearby, hovering close enough to watch but far enough that he’s not in the way, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

He’s the first one to see Keith hovering in the doorway.

“Keith,” He says, face brightening instantly. His face is warm and open, smile widening as he pushes off the counter and walks toward him arms outstretched. Keith knows what’s coming, and he doesn’t bother trying to fight it.

Shiro pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders, his back, and Keith melts into it. Buries his face in Shiro’s chest like he used to do when they were kids. Pretends for only a moment that he can hide here, where it’s safe, and avoid facing his problems.

“I’m glad you came,” He can feel Shiro’s words rumbling in his chest, voice soft and low and meant only for him. He can hear the relief in it. The content. The pride. He hates it. Even more so when his chest flutters because of it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being the little kid who longs for Shiro’s approval, to make him proud. He even finds himself smiling against the ridges of Shiro’s collarbones. Ugh.

“I still don’t want to be here.” He huffs, words muffled against Shiro’s shirt, but no less disgruntled.

“I know, but you _are_ here, and that’s what matters.” He pulls away then, and Keith instantly misses his warmth. The safety he provides. Shiro settles his hands on Keith’s shoulders, squeezing gently and all but forcing the tension out of them. He pins Keith with his gaze, kind and reassuring, smile soft and genuine. “It’s going to be okay.” Keith meets his eyes, feeling his brows pinch and his lips twist up into some semblance of a frown. “Trust me, okay?”

Finally, Keith sighs, body slumping in defeat and resignation. “Fine.”

“Keith!” Then suddenly Allura’s there, pushing Shiro out of the way to claim a hug for herself. “We’re so glad you could make it! Welcome to your first official movie night with us!”

“Hey, Keith!” Hunk says, lifting a spoon in greeting. Keith gives him a weak smile over Allura’s shoulder, but it pales in comparison to Hunk’s megawatt grin. “Glad you could make it! Dinner’s almost ready, so go get changed.”

“Changed?”

“You brought pajamas, right?” Allura asked, stepping back from him, hands on his arms as she looked him over, pinch in her brows and small frown on her lips.

“Uh, yeah,” He said, shrugging one shoulder to indicate his bag. It’s only then that he realizes what they’re all wearing. Pajamas. Hunk’s are yellow with lines of darker orange beneath his apron. Judging from their shine, he’d guess they’re silk. Shiro has on his older sweatpants and an old band shirt that’s old, faded, and fraying, but incredibly soft. Allura has on fuzzy pajama pants and a loose, long sleeve shirt.

They look comfortable and relaxed, but it’s so... _odd_ to see them like this. He’s seen them in work uniforms. He’s seen them in casual wear. He’s seen them dressed up. He’s seen them dressed to dance. With the exception of Shiro, he’s never seen them dressed for sleep or to laze around at home.

It’s... nice, and he wasn’t expecting that.

“Come on!” Allura says, taking him by the wrist and dragging him out of the kitchen. She’s rough and firm, giving Keith no room to protest. He often forgets how strong she is.

His surprise must have shown on his face because Shiro laughed at him, snatching his helmet out of his hands as they passed. He cast a fleeting glare over his shoulder before Allura dragged him around the corner.

They pass by the living room where the others are gathered. Coran, Pidge, Matt, and Lance. They’re flipping through netflix, Matt and Pidge fighting over the controller.

As Allura drags him by, Lance looks up. He’s in the middle of a laugh, and it lights up his whole face. Relaxed an open. Eyes crinkling at the edges. Teeth bright. Nose crinkling just a little. Hair ruffled. Blue pajamas looking soft and loose, hanging a little off one shoulder.

He’s beautiful. Plain and simple. And it makes Keith’s heart skip a beat.

Then Lance locks eyes with him, and his smile fades. His whole face falls, amusement from seconds ago disappearing without a trace. But he’s not frowning, and Keith takes that as a good sign. He’s just staring, blank and open. Lips parted and eyes wide. Surprised, on the edge of panic, but something else keeping his features soft.

And then he smiles again.

It’s not a big blown out grin. It’s not a laugh. It’s not his cocky smirk or his confident smile. It’s not a _sup, mullet_. It’s not a _hey, Keith!_. It’s not a _took you long enough, buddy._ It’s not a _ayyy, Keith! Come sit with me!_. It’s none of those things, but it’s still a smile.

It’s small and almost shy. Sheepish. Almost abashed in nature. Combined with the way his head dips, gazing up at him through his lashes, shoulders raised toward his ears. It’s so strange, and not a look he’s used to seeing on Lance, of all people.

But it’s a smile. Small and shy, but still a smile.

And it shouldn’t make his chest flutter, or his heart rate pick up, or his palms feel sweaty, but it does all those things.

Keith’s smile mirrors his: a twitch at the corner of his lips, head bowed, a hand lifted in a small greeting that feels incredibly awkward and ridiculous given how intimate they’ve been, but then Allura is dragging him down the hallway toward Shiro’s room and out of sight of the living room.

When he emerges from Shiro’s bedroom, changed into his red flannel pajama bottoms and a simple, soft black t-shirt, everyone has started to gather in the kitchen to get food. He slips into line behind Pidge on silent, bare feet. They grin up at him, elbowing his side and bumping into him by way of greeting. He shoves them back, small smiles playing across their lips.

They pile up their plates, Hunk standing by and grinning as he watches them. Lance’s foot is in a boot, lifted off the ground as he stands with crutches. Shiro helps him get his food, carrying both their plates to the living room. Lance glances at him as he passes, but it’s fleeting, and he looks away quickly before eye contact can be made. He hurries out of the kitchen, chasing after Matt as they argue over what to watch.

“Don’t worry about it,” Pidge says, voice quiet and private.

He blinks, turning to look at them from where he had been frowning after where Lance had disappeared. They give him a small, reassuring smile and punches his arm before grabbing their own plate.

He’s the second to last to get to the living room, and by the time he’s there, everyone else is already settled.

Shiro and Matt’s living room is an odd collection of furniture that they had gathered throughout the years, which didn’t quite match, but still managed to work together to look comfortable and cozy nonetheless. It was all worn, old, but lived in. The center of the room was the large TV mounted on the wall, their pride and joy. Across from it was a couch that seated three comfortably, four or five if you squish. To one side is a large loveseat that seats two comfortably, three if you’re close. To the other side is Matt’s large, plush chair. In front of his chair are two large beanbags. A coffee table sits in the middle of the room, centered in front of the large couch.

Matt is nestled in his chair, plate on his lap, wrapped up in a blanket. Pidge is at his feet, nested into a beanbag. Shiro, Allura, and Coran take up the couch, while Lance sits alone on the loveseat, crutches laid out on the floor in front of him.

Keith’s only options are to sit next to Lance or claim the other beanbag next to Pidge. Given that Lance is pointedly _not_ looking at him, he’d say his decision is a given.

He sinks into the beanbag, wiggling a little to get comfortable before settling his plate on his lap. Hunk sits on the loveseat with Lance, and Keith fights Pidge for foot space until Coran loudly clears his throat.

When Keith glances over his shoulder, Coran is sitting at the edge of the couch, back straight, chin held high as he smiles at all of them, a bottle of champagne brandished proudly in his hands. After doing a sweep of the room, his gaze settles on Keith, grin wide and moustache bouncing. “I would like to officially welcome Keith to his first movie night.”

They all jump when the cork explodes out, heads turning upwards as it bounced loudly off the ceiling. There’s a clear dent in the popcorn plaster, and Matt snorts a short laugh. Shiro just smiles. Keith realizes for the first time that there are several other similar marks around the living room ceiling.

He pours the champagne into the empty glasses lined up on the coffeetable, handing them out until everyone has one. He raises his own, and everyone follows suit. “To friendship and family.” He says, wrapping an arm around Allura’s shoulders.

Everyone echoes and drinks before settling back down. They eat while Pidge shuffles through Netflix, absentmindedly shoveling food in their mouth as they do so. They argue about what to watch, and they do so in a manner that makes Keith think that they’ve had this talk a hundred times before. He adds his own comments on occasion, usually soft enough that only Pidge or Matt can hear. They typically snort a laugh, and then repeat it louder for others to hear, leaving Keith with a small smile hovering on his lips.

As it turns out, a bottle of champagne split between eight people doesn’t last long. While they continue to debate, Shiro goes around getting people other drinks. Soon they all have beers cracked, simple drinks mixed, and they’re settled back into their places. A four way rock-paper-scissors tournament determines White Chicks to be the first winner of the evening, and they’re all nearly halfway done eating by the time it starts.

Shiro says something as the title opens up that he doesn’t quite hear, but when he turns to look at him, he catches Lance’s eye instead. He looks away quickly, eyes snapping back to the TV and sinking further into the couch, loudly talking to Hunk, voice reaching the high pitches he defaults to when he feels uncomfortable.

Sighing, Keith sets his plate aside, snatching a blanket from Pidge, and settling into his beanbag nest to prepare himself for a long, awkward evening.

Under normal circumstances, Keith hates when people talk during movies. He finds it distracting. He hates missing important pieces of dialogue and having to ask what’s going on. He hates when the experience is interrupted. He hates being dragged out of his thoughts.

That being said, he’s coming to realize that he really doesn’t mind when it’s his friends talking. He doesn’t mind Pidge’s muttered snapbacks. He doesn’t mind Matt and Shiro bringing up some old argument and however it pertains to whatever is happening on screen. He doesn’t hate when Coran questions things and muses halfway through a dialogue exchange. He doesn’t mind when Allura talks back to the characters. He doesn’t mind when Lance and Hunk go back and forth, debating the logistics of the character development or dialogue choices or plot movements.

They all go through waves of conversation as the movie plays on, volume rising and falling. He finds that even when he misses some exchange on screen, he doesn’t mind, and there’s always someone there to fill him in.

For the most part, it’s cozy and it’s comfortable. It’s pleasant. He doesn’t say much himself, but lets the voices around him wrap him up in a blanket of familiarity.

He does, however, keep his eyes glued to the screen. He can’t turn his head to look at anyone without seeing Lance, and every time he sees Lance, he gets these uncomfortable heart palpitations. Several times he feels the heat of someone’s gaze on him, only to turn to see Lance quickly snapping his head toward the TV. Irritation bubbles in his gut right alongside an odd sense of satisfaction. Satisfied to have Lance’s attention, but irritated that Lance can’t seem to face him.

As comfortable as the atmosphere is, he can’t quite get settled. He still feels restless. Left over adrenaline from earlier seems to lurk in his system, keeping his nerves buzzing beneath his skin. He can’t full relax, and he knows it has everything to do with Lance.

All the uncertainty surrounding him. All of Keith’s anger and confusion. All of his frustration. The fact that no matter how mad he is, Lance still looks pretty when he smiles. And the fact that Keith’s stomach flips every time he hears Lance’s voice, followed quickly by a souring irritation that he won’t talk to _him_.

“Anyone up for another round?” Shiro asks as he stands, picking up his empty plate and beer bottle. There’s a general chorus of approval, and everyone starts to stand, stretching and chatting as they pick up their dishes and head to the kitchen.

Keith is one of the last to stand, taking his time to stretch his arms over his head and feel his back crack. He feels his shirt ride up and his pajama pants riding low. With a muffled groan, he lets his arms drop, shrugging his shoulders to get his shirt to settle back to where it had been. He idly scratches at the strip of skin that’s left exposed.

His gaze lazily sweeps across the room as he turns, mind a peaceful field of static with his friends’ voices as background noise, until he catches Lance’s eye.

His heart thumps painfully in his chest, breath catching in his throat. Lance is looking at his hands, at his exposed hipbones and the trail of hair down from his navel.

And it’s not the fact that he’s looking at him, it’s _how_ he’s looking at him. Keith _knows_ that look. He’s very familiar with that look. That’s the look that causes tension in the air and a heat under his skin. A look at precedes desperate hands and needy mouths behind closed doors and in shadows. A look that causes an itch beneath Keith’s skin, an itch to be touch and be touched. It’s dark, half-lidded eyes, a relaxation of his lips, the peek of his tongue, the way his shoulders are held, the way he moves, fluid and purposeful.

Irritation sparks in his chest, constricting his lungs even as his stomach flutters, heat pooling low in his gut. His fingers grip the hem of his shirt, pulling it down abruptly. Lance’s eyes immediately snap up to his face, dark look gone and replaced with wide-eyed panic.

“What?” It comes out with more bite than Keith intended, but he can’t take it back and he doesn’t quite regret it.

Lance visibly flounders, mouth working to find words that won’t come until they purse into a scowl, brows furrowing. He turns quickly, maneuvering his crutches around the couches and mumbling a short and clipped, “Nothing.” It sounds frustrated, but there’s no real heat to it.

He gets approximately three steps before Pidge is stepping into his way, forcing him to stop short. Their staring contest lasts five, long seconds before Lance hunches over, getting closer to them as they whisper back and forth frantically. He can’t hear the words, but it doesn’t take much to realize what it’s about.

Keith sighs through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away to give them some semblance of privacy. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see them glancing at him, can hear the bite in their voices. He’s debating the merits of trying to wedge past them to get to the kitchen to find safety in numbers, or simply turning and making a beeline for the bathroom, but he’s saved from making a decision when Lance suddenly huffs, loudly and defeated.

He feels himself stiffen, watching Lance out of the corner of his eye as he walks over, movements a little more stiff than the crutches warrant. He stops when he’s right in front of Keith, and only then does Keith allow himself to glance up at him.

He’s hunched in on himself, hands on his crutches, fingers tapping restlessly, head bowed and eyes on his feet. “Hey, so...” He starts, voice wavering and uncertain. He stops, clears his throat, and straightens a little. His head rolls up and to the side chin lifting even as he refuses to make eye contact. “Can we, uh... talk?” He lifts a hand, crutch still wedged under his arm, and waves it around vaguely. “In... private?”

Keith had known this was coming. Had expected it. Had prepared himself for it. But when it came down to it, when he says, “Yeah,” It comes out less confident, indifferent, and blank, and far more shaky, uncertain, and breathless.

Lance glances at him briefly, but says nothing. Instead he nods toward the hallway. “Shiro’s room?”

Keith nods sharply, not quite trusting his voice, and turning to lead the way. He doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder to where he’s sure Pidge is watching them. He takes the seconds it takes to get to Shiro’s room to steel his nerves and harden his heart, getting his breath and face under control.

He knows what he expects from this talk, and he knows what he hopes from it. And he doesn’t know which direction it will go in. Either way, he just wants to know what Lance wants from him, from _them_. Whatever it is... he can accept it. It doesn’t matter what he wants, not if Lance doesn’t want the same thing.

He holds the door open, and Lance squeezes past him, careful not to touch, effort made stiff as he tries to maneuver his way with two crutches and a boot on his foot. Once inside, he moves forward, carefully sitting on the edge of Shiro’s bed and lying his crutches down next to him.

Keith closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest.

The space between them feels like a rift, massive and impassible, and the silence that settles in the room is stiff and uncomfortable. He can _feel_ it settle against his skin, feels it pressing in on his chest. It’s a weight on his shoulders, making the space between them stretch and stretch until Lance looks far too out of his reach.

Lance leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasping and unclasping, fingers weaving and fidgeting, cracking knuckles aimlessly. His head is bowed, eyes on the ground between them. His good foot bounces, shaking his entire form. He doesn’t seem to notice. His brows are pinched, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Honestly, Keith feels more nervous just watching him.

He wants to get it out of the way. To dive right into it. Rip off the bandaid. Get it over with. But he doesn’t. He stays silent. This is Lance’s show. Lance is attempting to build the bridge between them, and Keith will wait for him to invite him over it.

_Patience yields focus._

So Keith waits, ignoring his own desire to fidged, watching Lance. Wary. Cautious. Closed-off. Still as stone. If he speaks first, he doesn’t know what he’ll say, so he bites his tongue and waits.

After what feels like an eternity, Lance breathes in deep and loud, sitting up straight abruptly. The sudden movement makes something in Keith’s chest constrict, his breath catching, anticipation rolling in his gut. “Okay,” Lance says, nodding once to himself, quick and decisive. His hands slap at his thighs. “Okay, okay, okay...”

He closes his eyes briefly, and Keith watches, transfixed, as his features settle. His brow smoothes out. The lines around his mouth relax. His shoulders drop, tension leaking out of them, arms drooping. His fingers stop clutching at the fabric of his pants.

When he opens his eyes, Keith is pinned by his gaze.

Blue eyes intense. Hard. Narrowed, but not angry. Lines at the edges, but not heated. Dark, sucking him in, refusing to let him go. Determined. Confident. Blue fire. The heat at the heart of a flame.

It takes Keith’s breath away. Leaves his lungs aching. Leaves his heart beating painfully quick in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” He says, and it’s soft, but strong. Firm. Unwavering.

He just stares, holding Keith to the door like a knife through his heart. The silence settles again, but this time it’s tense with expectation. Keith clears his throat, wishing he could look away, but knowing he couldn’t if he tried. “For what?” He finally says, proud when his voice is unwavering, despite the fact that his mouth feels dry.

Lance holds firm for just a moment, just one tense second, and then he completely deflates, folding in on himself. “ _Everything_ ,” He says, breath leaving him in a rush. The hardness in his gaze softens, the fire snuffed out. His brows pinch, lips tugging down at the corners. In just one word, he goes from being a pillar of strength to crumbling into the ocean.

He takes in a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair and scratching at the back of his neck. His eyes shift away from Keith, looking off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Look, I know you’re mad at me, but... I’m really sorry.” He starts, sounding just as crushed as he looks. His eyes flicker to Keith’s for only a moment before they flinch away, and before Keith can correct him, he’s already pushing onward. “We were having a great night, and we were probably going to win, and you were _free styling_ , you _did it_ , man, and I just— I had to go showing off, and I—“ He taking in a shuddering breath, clearing his throat when his voice starts to crack. “I broke my stupid leg.” It looks like it pains him to say it, and it hurts Keith’s heart to hear it. “I broke my leg, and now we— _you_ — you can’t go to regionals, and—“

“Stop,” His voice surprises them both, his voice sharp and loud and clipped. Lance’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, jaw clenching as he stares at Keith, wide-eyed and fearful, lip once again caught between his teeth. Keith wants press his thumb there until Lance releases it, and then his his stupid, beautiful face. Then punch him. “ _That’s_ why you think I’m mad?” He asks, incredulous, bewildered, and frustrated.

Lance glances around the room, eyes unable to settle. His food once again starts bouncing, and he seems to wilt until Keith’s glare. “Aren’t you?” It sounds so _small_ , and he says it so innocently, so warily, like he fully believes _that’s_ the reason Keith is upset with him.

Keith blinks, brows furrowing, scowl settling onto his features, lip curling. “What— _No!_ ” He doesn’t realize how harsh he sounds until he sees Lance flinch. Sees him shrink into himself. He tries again. “I don’t _care_ that you broke your leg!” Lance looks at him, face pinching in confusion and hurt and— _fuck_. “Wait, _no_ — that’s not what I meant. I mean— I _do_ care, because I care about _you_. I don’t care that we’re not going to regionals.”

He sighs, loud and frustrated, tilting his head back until it hits the door. He breathes in deep, eyes closing as he centers himself. Lance is silent, and it’s _suffocating_.

Fuck this. Fuck the space between them. Fuck this silence.

He’s had enough space. Enough of the silence.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, snapping his eyes open and pushing off the door. Lance flinches when Keith stomps over to the bed, leaning slightly away from him when he sits down heavily with only a few inches of space between them.

Keith ignores him. He leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees, hands coming together and fingers intertwining, squeezing, rubbing together. His nerves feel all over the place, mind buzzing and restless in his own skin, but he needs to do this. Needs to get it out. Needs Lance to _understand_.

“I don’t _care_ that we’re not going to regionals.” He repeats, keeping his voice level and calm, but feeling the frustration brewing just beneath the surface. “I’m _mad_ because you’ve been avoiding me. You’ve started talking with everyone else besides me. You’re being _weird_. You’re treating me like shit.”

Lance doesn’t even try to deny it. He shifts on the bed next to him, as restless as Keith feels.

“Look...” Keith says with a sigh, feeling his chest tighten. He has to take a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat. He breathes in deep, closing his eyes, letting his hair fall to hide his face, fingers tightening around each other. “If you don’t want to be friends with me anymore, just— just _tell_ me.”

He hates how the fire leaks out of him. He hates how small he sounds. Hates the hurt he feels is clear as day. Hates that his fucking heart is open and bare and bleeding to the guy who can break it. It’s subtle. He knows it is. He doubts most people would be able to hear the vulnerability in his voice. But _he_ can hear it, and he knows _Lance_ can hear it. Lance has picked up an annoying habit of being able to read his subtleties like an open book.

A second ticks by. Then two. Three.

Keith counts them in the breaths he forces himself to take. The silence rings in his ears.

When Lance finally speaks, it’s a lot higher in pitch than he was expected. Loud and offended. “Of course I still want to be friends with you, Keith! What the _fuck!_ ” Keith blinks his eyes open, tilting his head to look at Lance. His confusion and surprise must have shown on his face because Lance rolls his eyes, lips set into a frown as he huffs, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re more than just a dance partner, dude.” He says, mumbled and indignant, pink spreading out across his cheeks as he glares at the floor. “You’re my _friend_. _Our_ friend. You’re one of us, now, dude. We’re like Hotel California. You can check in, but you can never leave.”

Keith’s traitorous heart flutters, like a goddamn lovesick puppy. When did he get so soft? He knows Lance is trying to lighten the mood, but there’s more he needs to say. He grits his teeth, stomping down the little fluttering of hope, and looks down, letting his hair fall, hides behind it like a shield.

He nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when Lance suddenly lays a hand on his arm. “Keith...?” It’s a question, soft and concerned.

Keith exhales sharply through his nose. Time to rip off the bandaid. “Then... if you don’t want—“ He waves a hand around vaguely, expression pinching as he gestures at the space between them. “Whatever’s been going on between us— just... say so. It’s fine.” It doesn’t _sound_ fine, despite his attempts at indifference and nonchalance.

“Oh.” He sounds startled, hand suddenly lifting off his arm and hovering awkwardly. “Oh...” Keith squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath, hands squeezing together as he braces himself for rejection. “Oh, no. I, uh—“ Lance’s hand pats his arm, hesitant and awkward. “No, I... wouldn’t mind if _that_... continued.” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat.

Keith’s eyes have snapped open, wide as he stares at the floor, heart beating wildly in his chest.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lance straighten. “Yeah, I’m... I’m a fan of that.” His hands clasp loudly in front of him, sitting stiffly in his lap, fingers tapping at his knuckles. “Yup. That’s cool. Totally cool. If we continue that. That’s— if _you_ want to.”

That... wasn’t at all what he was expecting. Hoping for? Yes. He’s thrilled. He really is. His toes are curling, and his stomach is flipping. Heat floods his body, uncertain whether it wants to settle low in his gut or rise up his neck to settle on his cheeks.

But...

Keith turns to look at him then, tilting his head, suspicion pinching his features, lips twisting into a frown. Lance glances at him nervously, sheepish smile on his face. “Then why...?” Keith straightens, eyes narrowing. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I just...” Lance starts, then huffs, scratching the back of his neck and turning his head away. Keith can see the redness in his ears, his neck. “I was... embarrassed? I know that’s a stupid excuse, but...” His arm drops back to his lap, shoulders slouching. He turns to look at him then, eyes wide and apologetic, smile small and nervous. “And I thought you’d be mad at me. And I thought you’d think I was an idiot. And I just... didn’t know how to face you. And I know— I _know_ it sounds stupid, cause it _is_ stupid, but... I was... scared?”

It hits Keith then. Hits him like a ton of bricks, slamming into his chest and taking his breath away. Leaves him reeling and off balance, like the earth had been taken right out from beneath his feet. He realizes it while looking at Lance. Hearing his voice, just as raw and open and torturingly honest as Keith’s had been only moments before. Hears the words unspoken.

Lance had been just as afraid of rejection as he had been.

“I _do_ think you’re an idiot.” He says evenly, giving Lance a flat look, enjoying the way Lance stares at him, surprised and confused, squirming despite his obvious efforts not to. Then he can’t hold it back anymore. His lips twitch, pulling up on one side into a small smirk. He can feel it in his cheeks, crinkling his eyes. Lance catches it quickly, surprising fading into open awe, but no less confused. “But _not_ because you broke your leg. Accidents happen, Lance. I just... want to be there for you.”

He says it like a confession, hoping Lance can read between the lines and hear the things the doesn’t quite say.

He watches Lance’s face. Watches the slow transformation. His smile starts in his eyes, bright and blue and glistening. They crinkle at the edges as his cheeks lift, and then slowly, so slowly, his lips lift to match. Until his teeth are showing, and his grin is so wide that it hurts to look at.

And then he’s throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders and pulling him into a bone crushing hug. He buries his face in the crook of Keith’s shoulders and mumbles a soft, “I’m sorry.”

It takes Keith only a moment of hesitation before his arms lift automatically, wrapping around Lance’s back and pulling him in. His hands settle at his lower back, and it feels perfect. Whole. Like they just _fit_ there so naturally. His head falls forward to rest on Lance’s shoulder, closes his eyes and breathes in the simple smell of _Lance_.

 _God_ , he missed this. He missed this a _lot_. Hadn’t realized just how bad it had been until he was in Lance’s arms again, holding him tight. He comes to the conclusion that he’s way too far gone for this boy. It’s not good for his health.

“Are you crying?” He asks, noticing the slight shake in Lance’s shoulders.

“ _No_.” Comes the indignant answer, but it’s punctuated with a sniffle. Keith chuckles, his own chest shaking with it, muffling the sound against Lance’s shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, Kogane. We’re having a moment.”

Instead of responding, Keith just tightens his hold, pulls Lance a little closer, nuzzles into him until he can feel the boy shiver against him.

“So...” Lance says after a long moment of silence. One hand has crept up his back, fingers idly carding through his hair. Keith hums softly at the touch. “We good?”

“Depends,” Keith says, turning his head to grumble against Lance’s neck. “Are you done avoiding me?”

He _feels_ the shudder that runs through Lance when Keith’s breath fans out across his collarbones. “Definitely.”

Keith smiles, ducking his head to press his lips against Lance’s exposed shoulder, making sure he can _feel_ it. “Then yeah. We’re good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The door opens so silently, that he barely notices the movement of it. It doesn’t really register until it’s wide enough that he can clearly see the hallway beyond. He lifts his gaze from the book in his hands, eyebrow cocking as he waits.

It only takes a moment for the door to push shut again, and then Maria comes padding into view on shy, socked feet. She shuffles over to the bed, and only looks up when she stops by his side. She gazes up at him through wide eyes, just like his brother’s and his dad’s. Just a shade lighter than his own. She looks up through her bangs, clutching a book to her chest.

He lowers his own book, giving her that smile that always seems to be on his face whenever his nieces and nephew are around. “What’s up, buttercup?” He asks, soft and gentle, like he tends to be around Maria.

“Leo and Abbi are playing loud...” She mumbles, lips barely moving, twisting back and forth a little. “Can I read in here?”

He smiles, opening up his arms. “Sure thing. Come on up here?”

It takes her no time to crawl her way up onto his bed, settling herself on his lap like she’s done a thousand times before. He soothes her hair down and out of his face, then continues to do so as she opens her book in her lap. He tilts his head to rest his cheek atop hers, holding his book up with his free hand to continue reading.

It’s _Dune_ , an old book and a long one, but a science fiction classic, according to Keith. He’s barely managed to make a dent so far, but it’s one of Keith’s favorites, and the light in his eyes when he suggested it pretty much made the decision for him.

He only gets another page in before it becomes increasingly obvious that Maria isn’t reading. Her book is open, but her head isn’t pointed down. He glances up, following her gaze to where his leg is outstretched, foot propped up on a pillow. His boot and crutches are on the floor next to his bed.

“What’s up?” He asks, poking her side to get her attention.

She jumps and giggles, pushing his hand away, but then grows quiet. Shifting in his lap before finally mumbling, “Can I see your scar?” She asks it like she’s scared of the answer. Like she’s scared the question is wrong. Like she might get in trouble.

It tears at his heart. That shouldn’t be a worry that a five year old has.

So he smiles, soft and reassuring. “Go ahead,” He says, gently pushing at her shoulders.

She closes her book quickly, shoving it to the side as she crawls down the bed. She hovers near the pillow, peering at his leg, careful not to touch even as she leans in close. He just sits back and waits for the verdict.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“I didn’t get a scar,” She mumbles, face scrunching up, pout clear on her lips.

He chuckles. “I think that’s supposed to be a _good_ think, Ria.”

“Mama said you broke it bad.” She says, leaning back, tilting her head to see it from another ankle.

“Yeah,” He says, surprised by how easy it comes, surprised that it doesn’t make his chest tight or his stomach flip. He doesn’t feel like he’s swallowed lead. He hadn’t realized that the familiar weight on the shoulders is gone. That the shadows that have been haunting his mind are no longer there.

He finds himself smiling.

“Did it hurt?”

He laughs a little more openly. “Yes. Yes, it did.”

“Can you still dance with Keith?”

Ah, there’s that hollow feeling. But it’s different now. It’s sad and remorseful, but it’s no longer guilty. No longer tortuous and nauseating. He can deal with that.

“For regionals?” He asks. She nods vigorously, reaching out like she might touch his scar but pulling her hand back instead. “Nah. We gotta wait till next year.”

She looks at him then, pout turning a little more confused. “What about Keith?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Will he dance?”

“He can’t.”

Her frown deepens, brows furrowing and face pinching hilariously. “Why not?”

He tilts his head to the side, smile staying in place as he tries to explain. “Because we’re partners, and I can’t dance.”

She thinks about this for a moment, face working through a variety of emotions. He can practically see the gears turning in her head. Then her expression clears. Confident and sure, she nods. “He can dance by himself.” She says, no trace of doubt or question in her voice. She says it like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

He feels the sad tilt to his smile. “I don’t think it works that way, kiddo.”

Her expression turns defiant, pout starting to make a reappearance. “Why not?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but it dies on his tongue. He closes his mouth, smile fading, his own brows pinching in thought. “You know what...” He says slowly, mind already going into overdrive, scattered pieces of an idea floating around, desperate to fit together. He points at Maria, book falling closed at his side. “I think you might be onto something.”

She grins, teeth missing and eyes glinting bright.

It’s a long shot. It might not work. It could just fall on deaf ears. He could be completely crazy and just taking shots in the dark.

Then again, like Maria had said... why not?

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s weird being back in Altea’s halls, but it doesn’t feel as devastating as he was anticipating.  
  
It’s weird to be here, to smell the familiar citrus scent that Coran uses to clean, the smell of sweat and musty floors and old shoes. It’s weird to hear the muffled beats of music, creating background heartbeat to the whole studio without actually adding to it. It feels weird to wave hello to his friends and then watch them head for the stairs without him. It feels weird to be here during his usual time slot, but to be sitting in the office with Coran instead of in room 4D with Keith.  
  
It’s weird, and it leaves an aftertaste of melancholy that he can’t quite get rid of, but it doesn’t weigh on him like he thought it would.  
  
And instead of moping, like he thought he would being in Altea without the ability to dance, he’s feeling antsy and restless.  
  
He’s sitting in one of the seats in the office, boot leg stretched out in front of him, other leg bent and bounding. He leans heavily to the side, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair and his cheek in his palm. His other hand is wrapped around his phone, idly slapping it against his thigh.  
  
“ _Coraaaan,_ ” He whines, drawn out and pitchy.  
  
Coran doesn’t look up from where he’s seated behind the main desk, eyes on the computer. The _clack clack_ of the keys on his ancient keyboard don’t even pause. “I doubt we’ve heard anything since the last time I checked...” He trails off, turning to glance at the analog clock on the way, fingers still moving. “Five minutes ago.”  
  
“But they _might_ have responded,” He pushes.  
  
“Doubtful.” Coran says offhandedly.  
  
Lance huffs, puffing out a breath upwards to ruffle the fringes of his hair. He slouches a little further in his seat, stretching his boot out further. He crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down to his chest. He taps his phone against his arm.  
  
He went to Coran a week ago, typed up the letter, and had Coran send it to the Regional reps on his behalf. Hopefully his position as the Altea Dance Studio official representative would get them to at least read it. Coran was happy to help, and seemed hopeful, but Lance refused to get his hopes too high. That, however, didn’t stop him from being anxious and nervous.  
  
He chews at his bottom lip. He’s come every day this week, hitching a ride with Hunk and Pidge. Keith has been here most days, but Lance doesn’t know what’s been practicing. He hasn’t quite built up the courage to go to their old room, to watch Keith dance along without him.  
  
It makes his heart ache, but more than that, he’s convinced watching Keith dance alone, where Lance has full reign to admire him as he wishes, is just plain bad for his health. And for Keith’s productivity.  
  
Not to mention that Keith can read him like a fucking book. If left alone in a room together, he’ll know something is up, and he’ll manage to wrangle it out of him. It wouldn’t even be that hard. Lance is a sucker for those beautifully dark eyes and pouty, full lips.  
  
So he stays with Coran, removed from temptation, and waits for a response that he won’t sure will come at all, let alone it’ll bear good or bad news.  
  
God, he hates waiting.  
  
“Oh?” Coran says, and it’s only then that Lance realizes the typing has stopped. His tone is surprised, pleasantly so, and it catches Lance’s attention instantly.  
  
He sits up straight, balanced precariously at the edge of his seat, hands poised and gripping the arms of the chair. “What?” He demands, staring down Coran, watching his face carefully. When he doesn’t respond right away, Lance gets impatient. “Did they reply? It’s them, isn’t it? What’s it say? Is it a yes?”  
  
“Now, now, don’t get your knickers in a knot.” Coran says, pinning him with sharp blue eyes as Lance already has a crutch in his hand, wedged under his arm, and is poised to stand. He freezes, and Coran raises one eyebrow. “Sit.” He commands, and Lance reluctantly slumps back into his seat with a huff. “Let me finish reading it before you go jumping up and running over here.”  
  
He understands what Coran is saying. Given his leg and everything, if the answer is a no, there’s no point in him rushing to stand, getting himself all worked up. Still, it’s difficult to just sit there _watching_ Coran read. He tries to look for clues on his expression, but it’s set in a blank mask, giving _nothing_ away.  
  
Lance feels each tick of the clock’s second hand against his skin. A hammer in the silence.  
  
He counts thirty-seven before he breaks. “ _Coraaaaan_ , don’t leave me hanging! I’m _dying_ over here!”  
  
Coran’s only response is to hold up a finger, and Lance huffs loudly, making sure the man can _hear_ his impatience. He doesn’t seem fazed.  
  
If Lance hadn’t been watching him so closely, he might not have notice the beginning of his smile, but it grew quickly until a full on grin. One that lit up the laughter lines around his mouth and eyes, corners of his lips disappearing into his moustache.  
  
Lance sat up straight, feeling like the air had been punched out of his lungs. “Really?” It comes out breathless, awed, daring not to speak too loud lest he be wrong.  
  
Coran leans back in his chair, eyes flicking over to him, excitement evident in their glow. “See for yourself.”  
  
Lance doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs for his crutches, pushing himself to his feet. He’s gotten somewhat used to walking with crutches over the last few weeks, but his haste makes his movements awkward and sloppy. He all but stumbled his way over to Coran’s desk, knocking his crutches into chairs and nearly falling on his face.  
  
But he makes it and leans as far as he can over the desk to read the email on the computer screen.  
  
His eyes skim it, heart tightening and then fluttering as he gets the gist. Then he reads it a second time, more thoroughly. Then a third time to make sure he’s not dreaming.  
  
“Oh my god,” He whispers, breathless.  
  
Coran sits back in his chair, one arm crossed over his chest, the other twirling his moustache, a smirk on his lips. “I know. You did well, Lance.”  
  
“Oh my _god!_ ” He turns to look at him, grin wide enough to make his cheeks ache. “I did it! They agreed!”  
  
“You did indeed.” Coran says, amusement in his voice.  
  
“I gotta tell him!” Lance says, already getting his crutches under his arms again, pushing off the desk to hobble across the office.  
  
“Try not to hurt yourself on the way up! And take the elevator!”  
  
“Yeah, yeah!” He says as he pushes his back against the door to open it. He casts one last glance behind him, awkwardly waving his phone in the air. “Can you forward that email to me?”  
  
He nods, already reaching for the computer. “Sure thing!”  
  
“You’re the best, Coran!” Lance calls as he slips out into the hallway.  
  
He makes his way down the hall as fast as he can, boot leg held up and away from the floor because the whole _no weight_ thing is still in play, body swinging with every step, held between his crutches like a pendulum. Thankfully, they’re in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, in the middle of a time slot, so the halls are blessedly empty. Which leaves him with a clear shot to the elevator.  
  
“Come on,” He says, finger jamming the button over and over. “Come on, come on, _come on_.” He casts a fleeting look toward the stairs, wishing that he could just sprint up them.  
  
The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and he shuffles inside.  
  
The ride to the fourth floor feels like it takes an eternity, and he’s convinced Altea has the slowest elevator known to man.  
  
But then it dings, the door slide open, and Lance hurries down the hall as quickly as he can.  
  
The door to room 4D is cracked, and he can hear music coming from within. He stops outside it, leans on one crutch, plants the bottom of the other on the door, and _shoves_. “Keith!” He shouts as the door swings open.  
  
Keith startles, stopping whatever movement he was in the middle of and barely regaining his balance as he whips around to gape at him. “Lance?” He asks, brows furrowing and head tilting just a little to the side.  
  
“Keith!” He shoves through the door, pushing it away as he bounces off the wall and swings back to hit his arm. He hurries across the room as fast as he can. Keith’s eyes widen, shrinking back a little as Lance comes barreling toward him. “Keith! Keith, _look_ —“  
  
He’s so focused on Keith himself that he doesn’t see his hoodie on the floor. One of his crutches lands on it, and the speed at which he’s going swipes it right out from under him. He shouts wordlessly, sound choked off in his surprise as his balance wavers, one of his pillars suddenly gone and booted foot still up in the air. His momentum doesn’t stop, throwing him forward, throwing him _down_.  
  
Keith’s reflexes are sharp. He jumps forward the moment Lance slips, arms flying out to catch him. Unfortunately, his weight isn’t balanced well enough to keep them both standing, and they go sprawling to the floor.  
  
He lands heavily on top of Keith, hearing the air rush past his lips with a pained hiss. His crutches go clattering off to the side. His knee hits the floor between Keith’s legs, and an elbow slams the ground next to them, sending twin jolts of pain shooting through him. They’re both tense, but as soon as they land, they relax with matching groans of pain.  
  
Lance lets his head drop to Keith’s shoulder, body going limp on top of him. Even through the echo of fading pain, he’s able to appreciate and enjoy the hard lines and warmth beneath him.  
  
“Nice catch,” He mumbles into Keith’s shirt. He smells like sweat, the sharp spice of his deodorant, and the soft neutral smell of his laundry detergent. It’s a combination that Lance has come to associate with him, and he loves it.  
  
“Nice fall,” Keith says, arms resting loosely around him. His head falls back onto the floor with a sigh. “What was that all about?”  
  
“Oh!” Lance lifts his head, propping himself up on his elbows. Keith watches him curiously as he looks around for— _there_. He rolls off Keith, sprawling out on his back and reaching for where his phone had clattered to the floor.  
  
Lying there, he holds his phone up above his head, pulling up his mail app and waiting impatiently for new mail to load. As soon as he sees the forwarded email from Coran, he opens it. Keith has propped himself up on one elbow, turned on his side to watch Lance.  
  
“Here! Look!” He says, grinning as he holds up his phone proudly.  
  
Keith’s brow furrow just a little, knitting just a little in his curiosity as he scoots closer, practically draping himself against Lance’s side. Lance automatically shifts his arm, wrapping it around him to pull him in closer, letting him settle in the crook of his body. Keith reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Lance’s wrist to hold his hand steady.  
  
He leans forward, small frown pursing his lips as his eyes move back and forth. Lance just watches him read. Watches as his brows relax, rising high into his hairline as his eyes go wide. He feels his own smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches Keith’s frown smooth out, watches his lips part as his jaw goes slack.  
  
For once, Lance doesn’t feel impatient. He’s buzzing with energy, feels it electric and alive beneath his skin, but he’s content to simply lie there and watch as Keith’s expression goes through a variety of emotions. Confusion. Surprise. Awe. Disbelief.  
  
“Lance,” He says, and it sounds breathless. His lips barely move, eyes never leaving the screen. “What did you do?”  
  
Lance can’t stop the grin from splitting his lips, but when he speaks, his voice is soft and gentle, almost bashful and shy. “I emailed the Regionals reps,” He says, fingers idly tracing patterns on Keith’s back. “Well, technically Coran did, but I wrote a personal letter to them. I told them what happened, how we had qualified as a duo, but then I... had an accident, and just...” He shrugs. “I told them how hard you had worked, and how this meant a lot to both of us. And I asked if it would be possible for them to let you in as a solo act, since, you know... you qualified _anyway_ , and... yeah. I didn’t know if it would work, but I thought it was worth a shot, and—“ Keith just stares at him, eyes dark and glistening, wide and awed. He looks at Lance like he’s the center of the universe, and it takes Lance’s breath away. “And now you’re in.”  
  
Keith just stares. A flurry of emotions pass behind his eyes, brows knitting and lips working like he’s not quite sure what he wants to say. Then he’s suddenly surging forward, shifting half on top of him, fingers curling into Lance’s shirt, and crushing their lips together.  
  
It’s harsh. It’s rough. It’s not soft, and it’s not gentle. It’s hard and bruising, noses bumping and teeth clashing. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much. It’s everything Keith is feeling but doesn’t know how to say. Lance can feel it, just as he can feel Keith’s heartbeat pounding where their chests are pressed tight.  
  
It’s perfect.  
  
Lance lets his phone slip to the floor, wrapping one arm tight around his back and slipping the fingers of his other hand into Keith’s hair, gripping the strands and refusing to let him go. His eyes drift closed as he tilts his head, forcing Keith’s to tilt with him.  
  
And then everything clicks together. Jagged little puzzle pieces, rough around the edges and ill-fitting, fall into place together, looking like they should never fit but against all odds, against all logic, do anyway. A perfect snap.  
  
Keith’s desperation softens as Lance kisses him back. Opens up eagerly when Lance licks at his lips. Bites at Lance’s lips playfully, making him laugh softly through his nose. It’s difficult to kiss when they’re both smiling, but they manage anyway.  
  
When they finally break apart, they don’t go far. Keith hovers right above him, breath fanning out across his face. His smile is small, barely gracing his lips, but evident in how his entire face softens, in how his eyes crinkle at the edges.  
  
Lance’s hand slips from Keith’s hair, fingers and knuckles moving to smooth across Keith’s features, feeling the soft perfection of his skin, cupping his jaw and reveling in the way Keith leans into it. They’re both panting, neither of them quite able to catch their breath. He can feel Keith’s heartbeat, racing his own. Keith’s fingers no longer grip his shirt like an anchor, but remain tangled in the fabric, unwilling to let go. 

 

He doesn’t know how he was ever able to stay away from this perfect boy. He doesn’t know why he ever thought it was a good idea. He’s addicted to him. The taste of his skin, the feel of his lips, the sound of his voice. Everything. Keith has him fascinated. Transfixed. Captivated. 

 

He’s drawn to Keith. Inexplicably, uncontrollably, and completely.

 

And he’s tired of fighting it.  
  
“Dinner on me?” Keith asks, voice barely above a whisper, but loud in the silence between them. It’s light, aiming at indifferent, but unable to fall short of hopeful.  
  
Lance feels the corner of his mouth quirking upward, cheeks rising in a small smirk. “Keith Kogane, are you asking me out on a date?” It’s teasing. Light-hearted. Wavering slightly with the beat of his heart.  
  
“Depends,” Lance watches with awe as Keith’s smile twitches, hesitant and shy. Sheepish and bashful are odd looks on Keith, but Lance is starting to like them. It’s like a secret. A side of Keith only he gets to see. Something only shared in the breath of space between them. “Would you say yes?”  
  
At that, Lance chuckles. How the _hell_  Keith thinks he’d ever say anything but, he’ll never know. His hand moves from Keith’s cheek, pushing hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. His smirk is confident and cocky, a thin veil to barely disguise the soft anticipation beneath. He’s certain Keith can feel the fluttering of his heart beneath his hands.  
  
“How could I say no?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be covering Regionals, and the last chapter will be an epilogue! We're coming to an end of this journey, my dudes, and it's been one hell of a ride. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with us so far, and here's to hoping you'll stick with us through our next projects!
> 
> You guys are awesome <3
> 
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	14. Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camera focuses in on Lance’s face, eyes bright and grin wide. As soon as it starts up, his grin settles into something more suave, something more relaxed and cocky. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, a tall, canvas seat behind him. He settles back, one hand holding up the camera, the other elbow propped up on the car door.
> 
> The lighting is dark. The world outside the window is gray. Details are lost in the shadows. A dim yellow light from somewhere above is his main source of light. The occasional streetlamp casts him briefly into sharp relief. 
> 
> “What’s up? Lancey Lance here.” He shoots a finger gun at the camera, complete with a wink, before letting his hand drop. “It is currently... six fifty-five am. The gang’s all here, crammed up into a van that Coran rented, and we’re on our way to regionals!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Here we have the long awaited Regionals chapter! For this chapter, I tried a slightly different writing style: writing from the POV of a camera. It's been fun to experiment with, and I liked what it brought to the story telling of this chapter in particular.
> 
> As always, all dances referenced are linked in the end notes. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for hanging out with us on this incredible journey! 
> 
> There's not much else to say, so happy reading!

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The screen turns on with the corner of Pidge and Hunk’s apartment snapping into view. It starts out fuzzy before the lens adjusts, putting everything into focus. The TV is off, coffee table littered with papers and books and used cups.

“It lives!” Lance announces, voice off screen. The camera moves, up and down the walls, shifting around the living room as he makes cooing sounds. “It looks so _good_ , holy _crow_.” He mumbles, more to himself than anything else.

“Lance, what’re you doing?” Comes Pidge’s voice, and the camera moves quickly, snapping across the living room to the hallway across the way. The one that leads back to their bedrooms and the bathroom. Pidge stands there, pajama pants pooling around their feet and baggy shirt hanging on their small frame. They stare at the camera, one eyebrow raised, expression flat, arms crossed over their chest. “Are you recording me?”

“Yup,” Lance says cheerfully. “This is the maiden voyage of this bad boy. Say cheese, Pidge!”

Instead of saying anything, Pidge lifts a hand, promptly flipping both him and the camera off.

Lance laughs, camera shaking slightly. “Now _that’s_ the Pidgeon I know and love.”

There’s a visible fight to it, but in the end, Pidge can’t help the small, lopsided smile that crooks their lips. “Just keep that camera out of my face, Lance.” They say flatly, but there’s a lilt of amusement there.

“And rob the viewers of your beauty? Never.”

Pidge rolls their eyes and strides across the room, throwing themselves down on the other end of the L-shaped couch and nestling into the pile of spare blankets and pillows that had been sitting there.

The camera follows their progress before moving upward, pointing across the small kitchen table to the bar window that looks into the kitchen. Hunk and Keith are there, talking about something that the camera can’t quite pick up. Hunk says something as Keith is drinking from a glass, and all at once his eyes go wide. He chokes back a laugh, bending forward, hand going to his mouth, but he can’t quite stop the spray of liquid from his mouth.

Hunk turns around to shield himself from it, and Keith stares at him in horror, already going to apologize. Then Hunk spins around, holding two cake pops to his eyes, and Keith throws his head back and laughs. The camera zooms in on him, focus fuzzing out for a second before snapping back to clarity.

“Hey, how about you two share the goods instead of goofing off!” Lance calls, voice playful and light.

Off screen, there’s a soft snort of amusement, followed by Pidge’s voice, “Like _you_ have any room to tell people not to goof off.”

The camera stays trained on Keith as he turns, blinking his surprise as he stares at the camera. His brows furrow, lips pursing into a little frown. “Lance, are you recording?”

“Yup!”

His frown deepens. “Why?”

“Why not?” Lance fires back.

“Because we’re not... _doing_ anything.”

“We’re hanging out, and you’re pretty. I don’t need any other reasons to want to capture this moment.” The words are light and flippant, playful and teasing. Keith stiffens, lips pursing as his cheeks darken. He huffs and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lance’s chuckle shakes the camera at the edges.

Hunk’s chuckle echoes Lance’s, and he moves past Keith in the kitchen. The camera zooms back out, moving to capture Hunk as he steps around the corner of the kitchen and into the living room. He carries a plate stacked with cake pops in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.

“And here he is, ladies, gents, and dudes of every preference! The man of the hour! The most beautiful person in all of existence! The light of my life! The wind beneath my wings!” The camera centers on Hunk, but after a brief pause, it flicks to the side to where Keith walks out behind him, a glass of milk in one hand and two mugs of tea held in the other. “Sorry, babe.”

Keith just rolls his eyes, a good natured smile tugging at his lips.

The camera follows them both as they make their way into the living room. Keith sets a mug of tea in front of Pidge, who immediately reaches for it and cradles it in their hands, before he makes his way around the couch to sit next to Lance, setting the glass of milk in front of him. The camera shakes a little as he sits down and Lance readjusts. Hunk takes a seat in the bend of the couch, setting the plat on the coffee table.

“Hunk, these look _amazing_ ,” Lance coos, zooming in on the plate. The camera whirls as it focuses on Hunk. “What’d you have to say for yourself?”

“Uh,” He says, tilting his head and scratching the back of his neck. “Hope they taste as good as they look?” He says with a wide, bashful grin.

“Hunk, you know they always taste even _better_ than they look.” Pidge says, leaning forward to snatch up one of the cake pops.

“I’ve known you since we were kids,” Lance says, camera angle drooping as he reaches forward to grab one for himself. “And I can confidently say that your food gives me mouth-gasms on the daily.”

Pidge groans, head lolling backwards, but Hunk chuckles, waving a hand at Lance, embarrassed smile on his face. “Dude, stop...” There’s a pause, smile widening and becoming smug as he says, “Nah, keep going.”

Lance laughs, his arm coming into view as he brandishes his cake pop in front of him. “Behold, my ode to Hunk’s culinary skills.” He clears his throat loudly, dramatically.

“No. No, no, no.” Pidge says, cutting him off. The camera turns to them as they wave their cake pop threateningly at the man behind the camera. Hunk chuckles off to the side. “If this is anything like what you just said, I don’t want to hear it. Keith, control your boyfriend. He’s a menace.”

There’s a soft, breathy chuckle from off screen, and the camera is jostled slightly. “Lance, stop scarring Pidge.” The voice comes, low and soft near the camera. There’s an attempt to be stern, but there are playful undertones.

Lance scoffs. “As honorary big brother, it’s my _job_ to scar them.”

“As childhood friend, it’s my job to beat up anyone who harasses them.” Keith shoots back. The camera, still trained on Pidge and Hunk, captures Pidge’s small, lopsided grin.

“You think you could kick my ass, Kogane?” Lance says, voice dropping, words lifting at the edges.

“I _know_ I can, McClain.”

Pidge leans closer to Hunk, eyes trained on the two behind the camera, whispering loudly, “The way they flirt is weird.”

Hunk just shrugs, reaching for a cake pop and looking it over with a critical eye. “Did you really expect anything else?”

Pidge’s face scrunches up for a moment, wheels behind their eyes turning, then they sigh, leaning back to their original position. “Good point.”

“Hey, Lance, can I see your new camera?” Hunk asks, eating his cake pop whole and speaking around full cheeks.

“Sure, buddy.”

The angle jostles as the camera passes between them. When it settles again, it’s pointed across the room, aimed at the window. In the corner of the screen, Lance sits on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table, one foot encased in a walking boot. Keith sits next to him, feet pulled up onto the couch, leaning into Lance’s side. Lance’s arm drapes over the back of the couch and around Keith’s shoulders.

There’s a long, low whistle, screen shaking a little as Hunk looks it over. “This is super cool, dude.”

“I know, right?” Lance says, grinning at them, taking a bite of his cake pop before waving it at the camera in a vague gesture. “My whole family pitched in to buy it. I think it’s supposed to be a _get well soon_ kind of thing, since I can’t actually _dance_ at regionals. I think it’s kind of a pity gift, but I’ll take it. I’m gonna get some great footage of your performances.”

“Hey, Pidge, check out these settings...” Hunk mumbles, and the camera angle tilts, twisting to the side as he leans over toward Pidge.

In the corner of the screen, Lance watches them, beaming with pride. While he’s not paying attention, Keith leans over, closing his mouth over the end of his forgotten stick and pulling off the rest of his cake pop.

Lance jumps, making an indignant squak and turns to gape at him. Keith’s eyes glint with mischievous amusement, corner of his lips tilting upward as he chews. Glaring at Keith, Lance leans forward for another one and makes a point to eat it as far away from Keith as he can.

“Can I see it?” Pidge asks.

The camera’s angle changes again, shifting as Hunk says, “Sure,” And passes them the camera. The angle twists, mostly pointed down but catching glimpses of Keith and Lance fighting over cake pops, progressively getting more and more physical and Keith eventually resorting to grabbing Lance’s side. Lance squeals as Keith tickles him, and Keith uses that moment to snatch his cake pop away.

“Evil,” Lance hisses.

Keith just grins, tossing the stick onto the table.

“When’s Coran coming to pick us up tomorrow?” Hunk asks, reaching forward for another pop before leaning back into the couch.

The camera steadies, lifting to point at him. “He said he was picking the van up around six, and he’ll be here around six forty-five, after picking up the others.” Pidge says. There’s a collective groan. “So hurry up and eat so we can go to bed.”

“I _know_ I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight,” Hunk says, sinking lower on the couch.

Pidge scoffs. “And you think _I_ will? This is like... five hours before my usual bedtime.”

“Don’t you mean seven?” Keith says, and the camera swivels to point at him and Lance. Keith’s smirk is small, but it lifts at his eyes.

“Shut it, Kogane. And if I hear you two doing _anything_ on our couch, I will come out here with Josephine and beat you both.”

“Josephine?” Lance asks, one eyebrow raised as he turns to Keith. Keith just returns the look blankly, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s the name of the bat that Pidge has holed up in their room,” Hunk says offhandedly, sipping his milk. “They bedazzled it and everything.”

“She’s beautiful, and she’s for the emergency situation of a break in.” The camera zooms in just a fraction. “Or friends defiling our couch.”

Keith scoffs and looks away, lips pursed, a light flush on his cheeks. Lance just grins. “No promises,” He says with a wink.

“ _Ugh_.”

Lance laughs.

“I’m turning this off, and taking it away from you for the night.”

His laughter dies immediately, mouth dropping open as he sits up straighter. “What?!”

“I’m confiscating it for the night so you stop messing with it. You’ll get it back in the morning.”

“Pidge—!”

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The camera focuses in on Lance’s face, eyes bright and grin wide. As soon as it starts up, his grin settles into something more suave, something more relaxed and cocky. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, a tall, canvas seat behind him. He settles back, one hand holding up the camera, the other elbow propped up on the car door.

The lighting is dark. The world outside the window is gray. Details are lost in the shadows. A dim yellow light from somewhere above is his main source of light. The occasional streetlamp casts him briefly into sharp relief.

“What’s up? Lancey Lance here.” He shoots a finger gun at the camera, complete with a wink, before letting his hand drop. “It is currently... six fifty-five am. The gang’s all here, crammed up into a van that Coran rented, and we’re on our way to regionals!”

He leans away from the car door, tilting the other way in his seat and keeping the camera pointed at him as he turns. Coran appears behind him, sitting behind the wheel.

“Say hi, Coran!” Lance says, face in the edge of the frame as he tries to put Coran into focus.

The man turns briefly, catches sight of the camera, and then turns a little more fully, flashing a bright grin that has his moustache lifting. “Hello!” He says cheerfully, lifting a hand in a little wave before turning back to the road. “Who’re we saying hi to?” He asks, a pinch of confusion entering his tone.

Lance shrugs. “Not sure. Our future selves? Our children? Whoever sees it on the internet? Some future alien who finds it while rummaging through the rubble of our civilization thousands of years from now?”

“Well, in that case,” Coran shifts, holding up a hand in a Star Trek salute. “Hello, future aliens! We come in peace. Or rather... I suppose we died in peace. I hope it was peaceful. Though, given that you’re finding this in a pile of rubble, I suppose not.” He shrugs, putting his hand back on the wheel. “Not that I’m too surprised. We had a good run.”

“Are we leaving messages for aliens?” Hunk’s voice sounds from somewhere off screen, soft and muffled, sluggish with sleep.

“Yup!” The camera swivels away from Lance, pointing between the front two seats to face the rest of the van. The light from the front overhead lights fades, leaving the last row in deep shadows, but the rising gray light from the rising sun is enough to make out the six muffled shapes, wrapped up in blankets. Three of them sit on the middle row and three in the back. The camera points to the seat behind Coran, where Hunk is sitting up, blanket pooled on his lap, lazily rubbing one eye as he gazes at the camera blankly. “Say hello to the aliens, Hunk.”

“Hi, aliens.” He says, waving his free hand, words slurring slightly. He yawns widely. “I’ll leave a list of recipes later, so you can try some native Earth food. Or like... as close to it as you can replicate with alien ingredients.” He scratches his chin, where the shadow of stubble is growing. “What if they’re our alien overlords?”

“In that case, good luck with us. Humans are a handful.” Lance says.

“Especially you.” Hunk says, sinking a little further in his seat, pulling a knee up to rest against the window, pulling his blanket further up his chest.

“I’m _more_ than a handful, if you know what I mean.” Lance says, tone playful and suggestive.

Hunk gives the camera a blank look before he groans, head tilting to the window, blanket being pulled up beneath his chin. “Gross, dude.”

Lance laughs softly, and the camera angle slides to the seat next to him, where Shiro and Allura are curled up together. Her head is rested on his shoulder, leaning into his side. Shiro’s legs are thrown up over her lap, arms resting around her lazily. Both of them are fast asleep, lips parted slightly, chests rising and falling rhythmically. “And there’s Shiro and Allura,” Lance says, voice a loud whisper. “Fast asleep and grossly adorable. I’m pretty sure Allura is drooling into Shiro’s shirt, so... good luck with that, future Shiro.”

The camera lifts, pointed further back, to where the shadows are thickest in the back of the van. There are three huddled lumps there, each of them indistinguishable from the next.

“Say hi, Matt!” The lump to the right shifts, a hand lifting and waving lazily before falling back down. The blanket shifts, revealing a messy mop of hair. “Pidge!” Lance calls out. A hand rises from the middle lump, middle finger raised. “Eloquent as always. Keith! Say hi, babe!”

The lump to the left shifts, blankets being pulled up higher as the body beneath readjusts. “Fuck off, Lance.” Comes the reply, muffled and muted beneath the blanket, words slurred with exhaustion.

Lance chuckles. “Isn’t he a charmer, folks?”

Keith lifts a hand to flip him off, side by side with Pidge.

The camera turns, swinging past Coran and pointing out at the road ahead. The horizon is still in the process of lightening, chasing away the darkness. “So here, we are, officially on the road to regionals! With six sleepy lumps in the back,” The camera turns again, pointing across the front seats so both Lance and Coran are in the shot. Lance leans an elbow on the center console, grinning as he gestures to Coran with a thumb. “And Lancey Lance and Coran, Coran and gorgeous man kickin’ it up front. Keepin’ this party alive as the sun rises.”

Coran leans over a fraction, eyes on the road but tilting his head to speak to Lance. “I promised them an hour and a half of no music, but once that time is up...” He glances at the camera then, eyes sparkling, crinkling at the edges with mischief. He winks. “All bets are off.”

Lance laughs.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The screen snaps on, focused on Lance’s face on one side of the frame. The angle shifts, Lance holding it close to the window so Coran is captured in the shot as well. It’s much brighter now, early morning sun shining in and casting them in a warm glow.

They’re both grinning, eyes crinkling with mischief.

“What time is it, Coran?” Lance asks.

“I do believe it’s eight thirty, Lance.” Coran says, chipper as always, informative, but with an excited undertone.

“Does that mean the music ban is officially over?”

Coran glances at the camera, grin widening. “Why yes, my boy, I do believe it does.”

The camera angle shuffles, tilting and shifting as Lance sets the camera up on the front of the dash. His face is big on the screen as he makes adjustments. When he pulls away, the camera remains stationary. He and Coran are in the edges of the frame, the back of the van taking up the center of the shot. With the new light, the curled up bodies can be seen clearer.

Hunk’s head is tilted back, snoring softly, mouth open. His blanket has fallen around his waist. Allura has shifted back, head curled up against her headrest, legs pulled up and tossed across the seat until her feet rest in Hunk’s lap. Shiro curls up next to her, half lying down with his face in the blankets on her lap.

The three forms in the back seat are hunched and shapeless beneath their blankets.

The van is in silence for a moment, with nothing but snores, soft breathing, and the hum of the road.

Lance and Coran exchange looks, then Coran turns back to the road, smile still on his face, while Lance turns to the camera. He holds up his phone, wiggling it in view. The auxiliary cable trails out of it, disappearing to where it connects to the radio beneath the camera.

“Ready, Coran?”

“My boy, I was _born_ ready.”

There’s a brief pause, and then a heavy beat starts, followed immediately by the unmistakable rhythm of _Sexy and I know it_. It’s loud, blaring from the speakers all around the van.

Hunk and Allura wake with a start, both of them jerking as they sit up straight, blinking blearily around the car as the beat pounds. Shiro is jostled awake as Allura moves, and lift his head slowly, wiping drool from his chin as he looks around, looking dazed and confused. There’s a chorus of groans from the backseat as the lumps begin to move.

Everyone is awake by the time the lyrics start. Lance and Coran sing loudly, dancing as best they can while confined to their seats, complete with dramatic facial expressions and poses.

“Lance,” Keith groans loudly from the backseat.

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge joins in, louder.

Allura’s sigh is loud and exasperated as she rubs her eyes. “Coraaaan.”

Hunk groans and pushes his face against the window. Shiro collapses back down to Allura’s lap, running his fingers through his hair.

Matt shifts a little straighter. Still wrapped in his blanket cocoon, he leans heavily into Pidge, singing along loudly, voice thick and words slurred with sleep. Pidge shoves him, and he laughs, falling back against his window.

Lance ignores them as the beat begins to drive forward with the chorus. He whips around dramatically to face the back of the van just in time to say, “ _I’m sexy and I know it._ ”

Pidge hurls a small pillow at him, and Lance yelps. It hits him as he pulls back, skidding off his face to hit the camera.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The camera turns on, immediately jostling and shaking as Lance’s face blurrily appears in the shot. When he leans back, the camera is once again placed on the center of the dashboard. His grin is wide, lips moving to lyrics as he sings, his voice blending in with everyone else’s.

The music is loud, the energetic beats of _Handclap_ blaring through the speakers. The camera shakes slightly as everyone in the car bounces.

Coran dances as best he can while driving, eyes locked on the road ahead as he performs with expressions and one hand. Lance goes hard in the passenger seat, entire body getting into it as he performs for the camera, acting like a solo singer on stage. In the middle seat, Hunk, Shiro, and Allura play off one another, singing to each other and mimicking each other’s dance moves.

Pidge and Keith are reluctant to join, but Matt’s constant enthusiasm finally encourages them.

As the beat hits half time, music slowing as the lyrics persist, all of their arms go into the air, and the view of the van becomes a jumble of arms, moving in slow motion at all angles. Then the beat drops and it’s a flurry of movement again.

Movement. Loud singing. Laughter. Bright smiles.

“I call dibs on next song!” Pidge calls out as the song ends. The next song starts up, but Lance turns the volume down low as he scrolls through his phone.

“What you want, Pidge?” He calls back to them without looking up.

“It’s a surprise. Switch places with me.”

Lance lifts his head, turning to look back at them. “What?”

“Switch places with me.” They repeat. There’s the sound of a seat belt unbuckling. “Come back here and be gay or whatever and let me have shotgun.”

“Aww, Pidge, you’re enabling our gay.” Lance coos, putting a hand to his chest and fluttering his lashes.

“Oh shut it, and get back here.”

“Pidge, are you seriously—“ Matt starts, cutoff as Pidge shoves their blankets at  him. “Okay, yup, they’re serious.”

“But the car is _moving_ ,” Hunk says.

“If you’re going to be doing this, I recommend doing it quickly.” Coran says, glancing over to where Lance is already unbuckling his seatbelt with a slight frown. “Find your new seats and buckle in.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Lance says, giving him a small mock salute before reaching out to grab the camera. The frame whirls as it moves quickly. “Hey, Hunk, hold this for me.”

“Lance— don’t—!” The camera spins, stopping abruptly before pointing at the floor. It straightens slowly, lifting until Shiro and Allura come into focus with Lance squeezing between the two front seats. “Don’t just _throw_ it, Lance!”

“I knew you’d catch it, buddy.” He says, flashing Hunk a bright grin.

Shiro’s brow furrows. “Lance, what about your leg?”

Lance waves him off. “It’s fine.”

“Just... be careful.”

“Lance...” Keith says, and it sounds like a wary warning.

Lance’s movements get awkward, and he yelps as he trips, losing his balance and falling into Shiro’s lap. He grabs him, holding him up and keeping him from falling as Lance carefully maneuvers his legs from between the two front seats, brows furrowed and tip of his tongue sticking out, pressed against his upper lip.

Shiro then helps him shift, ending up pushing Lance temporarily into Allura’s lap.

He settles quickly, leaning back and throwing an arm around her shoulders. He gives her a sly grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Well, hello there, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, smile on her lips as she shoves him, nearly knocking him to the floor. He gasps, clutching at her to keep from falling.

“Heads up, Shiro.” Pidge says, already shoving their way over the back of the middle seat.

“Be careful, Pidge.” He says leaning toward Allura and Lance as Pidge wedges between him and Hunk.

“I’m always careful.” They scoff, clambering over the middle seat like a monkey.

Shiro ends up half leaning, half being shoved into Lance’s space, head pressed against his chest. Lance gasps loudly and dramatically. “Shiro, please! I’m dating your _brother_.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, smiling good naturedly. Pidge moves past him, slipping easily between the two front seats to slip into the passenger seat. Shiro straightens. “And you’re in my girlfriend’s lap.”

“Touché,” Lance says, putting his hands on the back of the seat. “Help me over?”

Hunk keeps the camera trained on them as they go through a three man operation of getting Lance into the back seat. Shiro and Allura help get him up and over, being careful as they lift his booted foot, and Keith catches him on the other side, pushing him toward the empty middle spot. There are a lot of elbows and knees, groans and protests.

Finally, they all get settled, and the camera moves to focus on the backseat as Lance throws an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Hey babe, miss me?”

Keith gives him a flat stare, but his lips are quirked and he leans into Lance anyway. “I wish I could say it was quiet without you, but your voice carries.”

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of my voice.” He says, smirking as he leans in. Keith rolls his eyes, but leans into him, eyes fluttering closed as their lips meet. The kiss is sweet and short, but all of them coo loudly and unanimously with a chorus of _awww_ ’s. Lance laughs into the kiss, and Keith flips off Hunk with the camera.

“Alright, enough with the gay,” Pidge says from the front seat. “It’s time for the best road trip playlist _ever?_ ”

The camera, still focused on Keith and Lance, catches Keith’s widening grin as he leans away from their kiss. His eyes are wide, crinkling at the edges. Lance leans back and stares at him for a moment, brows furrowing and lips pursing in confusion. Then his mouth falls open, eyes widening as he whips around, hands falling on the seat in front of them.

“Pidge, no!” He shouts.

Keith laughs as the singular, recognizable piano note comes from the speakers, followed by more.

“Pidge, _yes!_ ” Matt says from Lance’s other side, tossing his head back as he laughs.

Lance groans, dropping his forehead to the back of the seat in front of him.

Hunk chuckles, continuing to record as Pidge, Keith, Allura, and Matt dance wildly and energetically to Pidge and Keith’s old emo road trip playlist. When Lance stops groaning, he sits back, arms crossed over his chest. The camera catches the fond look on his face and the soft look in his eyes as he watches Keith toss his head and sing.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The screen jostles as it it turns and lifts, settling with Lance in the center of the frame, from the shoulders up, hair mussed and messy, eyes bright and smile wide. One arm is outstretched at the side of the frame to hold the camera.

“So we’re officially here! I would have gotten more footage in the car, but they took the camera away from me—“

A mop of orange-brown hair pushes into the frame, half of Matt’s face showing up and shoving into the shot. His eyes crinkle with a smile that’s just off screen. “He passed the fuck out and drooled all over Keith’s shoulder. It took like five minutes to wake him up when we stopped for lunch.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lance says, shoving Matt out of the frame. His laughter can be heard as he moves away. Lance frowns at him, but then turns back to the camera with a smile. “As I was _saying_ , we’re here! We made it to regionals!” The camera spins quickly then slows, showing a large building in the center of the frame. The building is across a parking lot, rising in the distance. Cars and people are everywhere, moving toward the building. “There it is!” Lance says, and the camera moves slowly, capturing the city around them. “The others are signing in right now, and Coran is rounding up all the others from Altea to make sure they all get signed in, too.”

“And we’re on car duty,” Matt says, and the camera lowers to put him in the center of the frame. He stands a few feet away from the car. The camera is on a level that implies that Lance is sitting on one of the van’s seats, slide door open wide. Matt grins as the camera lands on him. He has a bag of some sort in one hand.

“Yeah, well I wasn’t exactly looking forward to navigating the sign in crowd with a boot anyway.” Lance says, bitter amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, you can say that again. There are a _lot_ of people here.” Matt spins on his heel, turning to face the building and throwing his arms out to gesture to everything around them. Despite the crowd of people in the distance, they’re in their own little pocket of peace. Lance makes a noise of agreement, and Matt spins back, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small, round snack. He pops it into his mouth, smiling devilishly at Lance. “He’ll be fine.”

The camera shifts as Lance sits up straighter. “Who?” He asks carefully.

Matt’s smile is knowing as he lifts his chin. “Keith,” He says casually.

“I’m not worried about Keith,” Lance says automatically, without a trace of doubt.

“Oh, I know.” Matt says, casually shifting his weight and idly spinning on his feet. The movements of a man unable to stand still, but there’s nothing anxious about the motions. They’re lazily and idle. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t wanna be there for him.”

“Of course I want to be there for him.” Lance says, and the camera shuffles a little. When he speaks again, it’s hesitant, softer. “He’s nervous... I just... wanna be there. For him. With him. Whatever.”

Matt is grinning, even as he leans forward a fraction and coos, “ _Awww_ , that is so _gaaaay_.”

“Shut the fuck up, Matt.” Lance snaps, but it’s playful and without heat. He laughs as he says, “Of course, it’s gay! I suck his dick.”

Matt laughs long and loud, the suddenness of it having him bend at the waist, free hand propped up on his knee to keep from falling over. “I’d say TMI, but I think we all know that at this point.” He says as he stands, wiping the corner of one eye, grinning. “Okay, okay, but enough about what your mouth can do, and let’s talk about mine.” Lance snorts off screen. “You still recording?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, watch this.” He takes out one of the snacks from his bag and tosses it high into the air, tilting his head back and expertly snatching it out of the air with his mouth. He’s smiling as he lowers his chin, staring at the camera as he chews. He winks, shooting finger guns with his free hand.

“Alright, I’m mildly impressed,” Lance says with a low whistle. “Okay, but I bet you can’t do it ten times in a row.”

“You’re on.”

Matt continues, each time throwing a piece high in the air, watching it with calculating eyes as he watches it fall, catching it easily with his mouth. After ten, he takes one step back, throwing his arms wide as he gives a dramatic bow. Lance is laughing, the sound of his free hand slapping at his leg.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night.” Matt says, straightening as he waves and blows kisses to an invisible audience around them.

The camera jostles as Lance stands up. “Okay, okay, my turn.” He says, and the camera frame points at the ground, catching sight of Lance’s feet as he hobbles forward. He walks without crutches, but his giant is lopsided with the walking boot hampering his movement. “Here, take the camera.” The frame moves away from his feet, new ones entering the frame as Matt takes the camera.

By the time the movement stills, Matt is standing several feet away from Lance, back to the van. Lance stands in the center of the frame, Matt’s snack bag in one hand and the other on his hip. His weight leans on his good leg, hip cocked to the side as he smirks. “Alright, time for a _real_ show.”

“Go ahead,” Matt says from off screen, amusement in his voice. “Show me up, casanova.”

“Gladly,” Lance says, cocking his head to the side, smirk widening as he reaches into the bag. He hefts the snack in his hand a couple times before tossing it up in the air. It goes high, and Lance tilts his head back, shifting to the side as he watches it. It lands cleanly in his mouth, and he lowers his head, grinning victoriously as he chews.

A second later, the smile disappears, face twisting in disgust, nose scrunching and lips curling as he chews. “Oh _god_ ,” He says, forcing himself to swallow, one hand going to his throat as his shoulders hunch. “What the fuck _are_ these?!” He coughs, eyes watering at the corners as he obviously runs his tongue to the roof of his mouth to rid himself of the taste. “Holy shit, I need water.”

The camera’s angle drops as Matt laughs, showing the concrete of the parking lot and Lance’s legs.

“Wasabi peas? Matt, what the _fuck?!_ ”

“They’re good!” He chokes out between laughs.

“They are _not!_ ”

“You’re just a wimp!”

“I am _not_ a stranger to spice, but _jesus_ , Matt, these are _gross_.”

Matt just laughs, camera angle shaking as it points more towards the ground.

“Get me some water, you asshole!”

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The image snaps into place with a glare from the sun, a blue sky glittering behind it. As the fame lowers, trees come into view. Beyond the sanctity of trees rise buildings, some old in architecture and style, while others stand tall and square, lined with sleek windows. The trees are all shades of green, yellow, and orange, changing with the autumn weather. As the ground comes into view, the grass around the stone paved walking paths are coated in fallen leaves.

The park is full. People travel in groups, in couples, and alone. They lounge in hammocks between trees, on the grass, on benches. They walk the pathways, no one in a hurry, everyone at ease.

The camera moves slowly, capturing everything, the atmosphere, the scenery.

It then swirls, turning around quickly, and Lance is suddenly in the frame. His eyes are bright in the late afternoon sun, despite the bags starting to form beneath his eyes. He grins, as he tends to do when the camera is pointed at him. The camera angle wobbles slightly, a strange rhythm but consistent, correlating with the way his giant is lopsided when he walks with his boot. Every other step, the frame jerks a little, his shoulders lurching just a little.

“We’re at a park!” He says cheerfully, announcing it perhaps louder than necessary with the camera so close to himself.

There’s an amused snort off screen, followed by Keith’s low, lazy drawl. “I think that much is obvious, Lance.”

Lance turns to the side, pout forming on his lips, but his eyes are still smiling. “Shut your face, Keith. I’m narrating this video.”

There’s no audible answer, but Lance’s smile slowly melts back onto his face. When he looks back to the camera, there’s a fond gleam in his eyes.

“Anyways, we’re at a local park, like... a five minute drive from the regionals auditorium. Matt and I found it while looking around for a place to eat, and we decided to check it out.” He says, looking away from the camera to look around. “It’s really pretty, but pretty crowded. The gang's all back together.” He turns to the side again, throwing his free arm out, smiling as he says, “Keith! Come over here.”

“Not while you have the camera on.” Comes the flat reply.

Lance’s shoulders hunch, camera drooping a fraction. He tilts his head, pushing his lips into an exaggerated pout. “Keeeeith,” He whines. “ _Pleaaaase?_ ”

He holds the pout for a few seconds longer before his whole face lifts, back straightening as he does. Keith suddenly moves into the frame, and Lance shifts the camera to better position the both of them together in the shot.

His arm drapes around Keith’s shoulders with the smoothness and ease that comes with familiarity. And it’s with that same familiar ease that Keith slides into place at his side, standing tall on his own but leaning ever so slightly into Lance. The camera is held high, angled down just enough to catch the movement of Keith’s arm easily and automatically sliding into place around Lance’s waist. Hand resting on his hip, fingers idly curling into his belt loop and fiddling with it.

Keith stares at the camera with a flat expression, disgruntled around the edges. His lips are pursed into a small frown, bordering on a pout. His thick brows are pulled together, looking uncomfortable to have the camera pointed at him.

“And here’s my lovely and beautiful boyfriend, Keith Kogane, my moon and stars, light of my life, wind beneath my wings,” Lance says, leaning his head to the side to bump his against Keith’s.

Keith’s frown lessens, corners of his lips threatening a smile, eyes hinting at his struggle to keep it down. “I thought that was Hunk.”

Lance’s face turns thoughtful, lips pursing outward as he thinks. His eyes drift beyond the camera head of them, and slowly his nods, inadvertently rubbing his head against Keith’s. “Truuue, but what Hunk doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He says, small smile coming back as he turns his head, nuzzling his nose into Keith’s cheek, causing Keith to snicker, eyes squeezing shut as he pulls away just a fraction, smile finally breaking lose.

Lance presses a kiss to Keith’s temple, smiling into it. As soon as he pulls away, Keith nudges him with his shoulder, causing them both to sway to the side. “Stop being mushy on camera.”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes as a playful smirk tugs at his lips. “Oh, we’ve _definitely_ done worse on camera.” Keith makes a surprised strangled sound, eyes widening and lips parting before he snaps his jaw shut.

Color creeps up Keith’s cheeks. He purses his lips and turns to the side, partially hiding his face as he looks like he’s gazing out around the park.

Lance chuckles, leaning in to loudly whisper in Keith’s ear. “Did you ever get Pidge to save that video?”

“No!” Keith says quickly, indignant, slightly exasperated. His brows pinch, and he refuses to turn back.

Lance leans in closer, dipping his head enough to press his nose to Keith’s neck. “Guess we gotta make another one then...” He says, voice low and husky.

“Lance!” Keith says, head whipping around to face Lance. Lance pulls back in time to avoid being hit, grin spreading his lips, eyes lidded and sparkling with amusement. Keith glares at him, lips parted slightly, shock widening his eyes, raising his brows, opening up his expression.

“What?” Lance says, voice dripping false innocence. He tilts his head, smirk widening. “Are you _opposed_ to it?” He asks, slow and knowing.

The color high on Keith’s cheeks darken slightly. His brows pinch, lips pursing. “That’s not the point.” He says stiffly.

Lance laughs, bright and open, and Keith’s face visibly relaxes, fondness leaking into his eyes, softening the edges, easing his frown into the hint of smile.

The camera turns, pausing when it faces ahead of them. The slight wobble with every other step is still there, but it’s eased as Lance leans into Keith. He camera points off to the side of the path, to the right.

Shiro and Allura walk hand in hand, leaning close as they talk, Allura pointing out things she sees, Shiro’s smile as he turns to look at her. “There’s the parents. Being gross as always.” Lance says. The camera moves to the other side of the path. Hunk and Coran walk next to each other not too far away. Hunk has his phone out, clearly looking at it and talking with his other hand. Coran has a map half unfolded in his hands. “There’s Hunk and Coran. Last I heard they were debating where to have dinner. Coran has some favorite places, but Hunk wants to try something new.” The camera moves again, pointing off the path. Beneath the trees, walking through the grass, is Matt. Pidge is perched on his back, arms lazily dangling over his shoulders and gesturing wildly as they talk. Both of their expressions are bright and open, relaxed and comfortable. “And there’s the nerd twins.”

The camera shifts suddenly, focusing straight down the path to where it spreads out into a wide, circular area, surrounded by benches, a fountain rising in the center, and where several other paths come together.

“Ooooh! Keith, look!” Lance says, walking a little faster.

They stop when they reach the little park square, and the camera focuses on the fountain as Lance walks around it. “This reminds me of our place back home,” He says thoughtfully, almost wistfully.

“It really does,” Hunk says, and the camera lowers from the fountain to settle on him. The others are there, gathering in a section of the square that’s less busy, nestled between two pathways with barely any foot traffic.

“It would be so fun to have a dance day here,” Allura says with a wistful sigh, and the camera slides to the side to where she’s holding onto Shiro’s arm, leaning into him to place her head on his shoulder.

“It was fun the couple times we managed to go out with you guys,” Shiro adds with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, too bad we don’t have our speakers.” Pidge says, pout on their lips as they slump on Matt’s back, chin resting on his shoulder.

“Well... actually...” Matt says, letting go of one of Pidge’s legs to dig into his pocket. He pulls out a thin, black rectangle. His smile is sheepish. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but trust me, I built it myself. All the volume of your usual amp, but easier to carry.”

“Matt, you’re a _genius!_ ” Pidge exclaims, shooting up straight and clamping their hands down on his shoulders. It throws them both off balance, and they nearly topple over before Hunk moves automatically behind them. He catches Pidge and stops Matt from falling, lowering Pidge to the ground.

The camera angle moves, slowly roving over the crowd on the other side of the fountain and on the paths and grassy areas beyond. “I wonder how many of these people are here for regionals...” Lance says thoughtfully.

“What’d you say we find out?” The camera moves back to Pidge, who’s grinning crookedly, head tilted up at the camera. They lift their hands and wiggle their phone in one hand and Matt’s portable speaker in the other, a cable connecting them.

Lance moves to sit on the lip of the fountain, positioning the camera in his hand so it’s pointing toward the space they make in front of him. Matt holds the phone and speaker, hitting play on a song that’s one of his more recent remixes.

Pidge starts off the dance circle, and they’re kicked out not long after by Hunk. They set the pace, everyone in their group taking turns jumping into the circle, dancing to whatever song happens to play next on Pidge’s phone. The phone and speaker are passed throughout the group as they take turns jumping in. It’s light hearted and fun, none of them taking it particularly seriously. Coran warns them not to injure themselves, earning a dry, sarcastic laugh from Lance.

He holds the camera, capturing it all. The frame shakes slightly when he dances in place, despite his efforts to hold it still. A crowd gathers, and there are several others who jump into their circle. Everyone laughs, bright smiles on their faces, enjoying the moment. Strangers and friends brought together through their love of dance.

Even Matt jumps into the circle, doing an impression of a robot that’s hilariously clunky and cliche. Pidge leaps in to join him, and they create a performance together.

When Keith takes to the circle, he’s not pushed, nor is he forced. He leaps in, dragging a foot behind him as he slides up behind Pidge, who laughs as they allow themself to be danced out of the circle. Then he turns, pinning his gaze just above the camera, on Lance. He smiles, eyes lidded and smirk playful. He dances effortlessly, dynamic pulls, quick tilts of his chin and head, flipping his hair, rolling his body before going through more kinetic motions.

It’s playful and daring, casually seductive if only because of the look he gives Lance, eyes never really leaving him. Lance lets out a loud wolf whistle as Keith bends, laughing gleefully as Keith pops his hip.

Then Keith is moving forward, toward the camera, body covering the entirety of the frame as he moves in close. Then the camera is moving, shot tilting and shaking. When it straightens, the angle is different, having been passed off to someone else.

It focuses on where Keith pulls a surprised Lance to his feet, grinning wide as he walks slowly backwards, tugging him along by his hands. The camera follows them, keeping them centered as they reach the center of the circle.

“Keith,” Lance says, voice low and barely caught by the camera’s microphone. His expression looks strained, brows punched and lips thin as he presses them together. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders, a stiffness with which he holds himself, poised leaning slightly away from Keith. He glances around the circle, head tilted downward, biting at his lip. “I _can’t_ ,” He says, putting emphasis on the word that’s strained and heartbreaking.

Keith’s expression softens a fraction. He tilts his head, hair falling from his face. He gazes up at Lance, eyes crinkling, smile soft and small. “Lance,” He says his name like a fond, exasperated smile. He leans forward, playfully going up on his toes to press his lips to Lance’s in a quick kiss. He pulls far enough away to say, voice barely audible to the camera, “Just... shut up and dance with me.”

The dance is awkward at best. Lance is unsure how his movement with the boot on his foot. Keith holds onto him, pulls Lance against him, and leads him through the dance. Eventually Lance loosens up, relaxes, leans into Keith, trusts him to lead him, and while the boot hampers and stiffens his movements, he doesn’t let it hold him back.

They whisper amongst themselves, and Lance laughs loudly, throwing back his head and wrapping his arms tight around Keith’s neck. Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck, shoulders shaking with laughter.

They eventually get pushed out of the circle by Coran, who takes it as his time to shine, whisking the circle wider with his quick and wide movements.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

“Hello? Is this thing on?” The frame comes into focus, shifting and jerking until it settles on a close up of green. “Oh, wow, too close.” The camera zooms out, leaving Matt framed in the center of the shot. He’s wearing a headband, copper hair pushed up at wild and crazy angles, giving him a ridiculous mane. His face is covered with green, leaving a peek of pale skin around his eyes, mouth, nostrils, and hairline.

As the camera fades in and out of focus, finally zeroing in on his face, he grins. His arms are held out, clearly holding the camera with both hands. “Hey! Check it out! We’re aliens!”

“ _Surrender Earthlings._ ” Comes a droning, nasally noise. The camera tilts, putting the upper half of Pidge’s face in the frame. They, too, have a headband pushing their hair up at odd angles, green plastered to their face. One finger is at each temple, as close to the green as they can get, pulling their eyes out wide, rolling them back up into their head. “ _Destruction of your planet is imminent_.”

“Finally,” Comes Shiro’s voice from off screen, bland and dry. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to rest.”

“ _Sleep is for the weak_ ,” Pidge and Matt say together, turning to blink at each other in surprise before laughing. The camera moves back a few inches, revealing that the two of them are sitting on the floor, backs to a simple dresser.

“Speaking of aliens,” Pidge says, leaning into Matt and forward, putting themself more into the frame. Their lips curve into a lopsided, crooked smile, eyes squinting with amusement. “Matt tell them about the time that you watched Flash Dance for the first time.”

Shiro’s soft laughter can be heard off screen, and Matt’s face turns in the direction of it, a small pout on his lips, even as his eyes remain amused. “ _Well_ ,” He says, turning back to the camera. Pidge settles back against the dresser. “ _Shiro_ , wanted me to watch Flash Dance with him, because _apparently_ it’s a classic dance film or whatever. But I didn’t want to. So he told me that it was a movie about aliens taking over the Earth and the only way humans could express themselves and break free was through dance.” Beside him, Pidge is snickering, and Shiro’s muffled chuckles can be heard across the room.

“Oh my god,” Comes Keith’s voice, amused and astounded.

“Shiro, my _man_ ,” Lance says, followed by the sound of a high five.

“Shiro, I can’t believe you,” Allura says, but there’s laughter in her voice.

“I can’t believe he _believed_ you,” Hunk says.

“I bet that makes for an interesting viewing experience,” Coran chimes in.

“Oh, oh, it did,” Matt says, smiling now, eyes roaming above the camera as he looks at the others before returning to the frame. “I spent the whole damn movie seeing it through an alien invasion lens, and I got so into it, thinking it was a really subtle telling of alien possession that only the eighties can pull off. But I was really confused by the end when the aliens hadn’t _actually_ shown up.”

“He got so mad at me.” Shiro says. “It was so hard not to break down in the middle of the movie when he started talking about his theories and the intricacies of the story telling.”

“I was _into_ it, okay?” Matt says, trying to pull off indignant defensiveness, but falling short as he smiles. “It made the movie more interesting.”

“Now I want to watch that movie with aliens in mind.” Hunk says thoughtfully.

“We can watch it sometime next week?” Allura suggests. “Make a night of it.”

“I recommend we watch _all_ our favorite dance movies through an alien lens.” Coran says.

“I’m down,” Pidge says, grinning, head turned to Matt. “What’d you say?”

He shrugs, grinning back at them. “I’ve already got an advantage. We should totally do it.”

“Sweet,” Pidge reaches out then, and the camera frame jostles as they take the camera away from Matt, putting themself in the center of the shot for a the moment. “Anyway, so we’re at our hotel room for the night. Or, actually, one of them. We have two rooms so everyone can have a bed, but we’re hanging out in one.”

“Lance is making us do face masks,” Matt says, leaning into the frame and pointing to his face.

Pidge shrugs with one shoulder, easy smile on their lips. “He said it would be relaxing and he wants us to look our best for tomorrow. So here we are.” The camera turns showing a typical hotel room. Door and bathroom at the far end. Two A desk and dresser combined with a TV atop it. A table and chairs by the window. Two full size beds.

The camera focuses in on Coran and Allura. He sits on the edge of a bed, legs crossed, dressed in a white fluffy robe with a towel curled atop his head. His face is covered in the same green face mask. Allura sits on the floor in front of him, dressed in a similar robe. She has her phone in one hand and one earbud in an ear, the other dangling. Her face is also covered. Coran meticulously brushes through her damp hair, rolling it into curlers with practiced ease.

The camera shifts, showing the rest of the bed. Hunk and Shiro sit against the headboard. Shiro lays stretched out, legs crossed at the ankles, hands intertwined on his lap as he stares idly at the ceiling. Hunk sits straighter, legs crossed beneath him.

“I can’t really move my face,” Shiro says thoughtfully, features scrunching and drying mask cracking as he does so.

“Me neither,” Hunk says, a DS in hands as he plays a game. “Feels kinda tingly?”

“I think that means it’s working.”

“I hope so. Otherwise I’d be worried our faces are burning off.”

“Wouldn’t that make for a shocking performance tomorrow.”

Hunk chuckles. “It kinda smells like guacamole, too. But like... with a hint of citrus?”

Shiro’s head tilts slightly to the side, looking up at Hunk, small smile playing across his lips. “I dare you to try it.”

“What, like eat it?”

Shiro nods, and Hunk looks thoughtful before lifting a finger to his face, peeling off a small bit of the face mask. He looks at the goop on his finger with intense concentration, eyeing it closely and lifting it to his nose to sniff. Shiro bites his bottom lip, eyes dancing as he tries to hold back a laugh. Finally, Hunk shrugs and pops the finger into his mouth. His reaction is immediate disgust, face twisting so sharply that his drying face mask cracks.

Shiro curls up with laughter, gripping his stomach and tossing his head back. Hunk shoves him playfully before going back to his game. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why don’t _you_ try it?”

“Not a chance.”

Matt and Pidge snicker behind the camera before the frame shifts. It focuses on the other bed. Lance sits up against the headboard, and Keith sits between his legs, leaning back against him. His legs are stretched out while Lance’s are bent at his sides. His head settles on Lance’s chest, just below his chin. Lance’s arms wrap loosely around Keith’s middle. They’re both in pajamas and both have green face masks like the rest of them. Keith’s headband pushes his hair away from his face, but unlike Pidge and Matt, it’s pushed far enough back to keep his hair from sticking up.

They’re both staring down at Keith’s phone as he fiddles with it.

Keith reaches up, absently going to poke at the green goo on his face. Lance slaps his hand away, barley looking at it. “Don’t touch it.”

“But it itches...” Keith says, lips pursing and brow furrowing beneath the green layer.

“That means it’s working.”

“Doing _what?_ ”

“Making your skin smooth and pretty.”

“You said I was already pretty.”

“You are, unfairly pretty given that you don’t _do_ anything, but that’s no excuse for poor skin care. Your pores are a mile wide, Keith. Waldo could probably hide in them.”

“When can I wash it off?” He grumbles, tilting his head back to look up at Lance.

Lance reaches over to his abandoned phone, checking the screen. “Five more minutes.” Keith groans, and Lance smiles, reaching up to smooth his hair back. “Stop being a baby. Just let it be relaxing.”

“How can it be _relaxing_ when my face _itches_ , and I’m not allowed to scratch it?”

Lance shrugs. “Beauty is pain.”

Keith looks thoughtful for a second, then lowers his head to look back at his phone. “Makes sense,” He says easily. “You’re the most beautiful person I know, and you’re a pain in my ass.”

“Oh my god,” Lance says, half a groan and half a laugh. He playfully swats at Keith’s shoulder. “Only _you_ can both compliment me and insult me in the same sentence.”

Keith’s smile is small and private, smug and proud, and the camera captures it all.

“They are so gay,” Pidge says in a whisper behind the camera.

“ _So_ gay,” Matt says, voice close. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah, but don’t tell them that. It’ll go to their heads.”

Keith’s eyes flicker up, staring at the camera before sliding to the two behind it. His smile fades into a frown. “Are you two still recording?” Lance’s eyes lift to the camera as well, more intrigued than disgruntled.

“What?”

“Us?”

“No.”

“Never.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Keith’s brows furrow. “Turn it off.”

“Or what?” Pidge challenges.

“Or I’ll record you talking in your sleep.”

“Okay, _fine_ , geez,” The camera angle shakes, tilting downward to capture the carpet and Pidge’s socked feet. “No need to play dirty.”

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

“We’re here!” Lance says, coming into focus. He’s in the center of the frame, catching him from the side as he walks. He throws up a thumbs up with one hand, the other on a crutch wedged under his arm. His head is turned, grinning brightly at the camera. His hair falls perfectly into place, skin radiating the early morning sunlight. His strides are lopsided, without the smooth ease of a normal walk, but there’s an easy rhythm to his limp.

He throws out a hand, gesturing in front of him, and the camera moves to put the towering building in front of them into focus. They’re moving forward across the parking lot. At the bottom of the frame, tops of cars can be seen, floods of people, and the closer backs of the rest of their friends.

The camera slides back to Lance in time for him to say, “Today is the day of regionals! We’re running on like... _zero_ sleep and cheap hotel coffee, but we’re here.”

“The coffee was _not_ a good idea.” Hunk’s voice comes from behind the camera, muttered and low. “I’ve had nervous shits like... _twice_ already.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one,” Lance says dismissively, waving him off. “Besides, you’d be dead on your feet without the coffee.”

“True,” Hunk says thoughtfully, then a little more reproachfully. “You sure you want to carry that crutch with you, dude? Like... you don’t _need_ it anymore, right?”

Lance’s smile slowly fades, and he turns forward, face pinching, thoughtful. He shrugs. “No, I don’t really _need_ it anymore. But it’s still easier to have it. And we’ll be walking around a lot today. And people tend to move out of my way if they see I have a crutch, since it’s more visible than just a boot. Idk... It’s a just in case thing, you know? And I can walk faster in it. Don’t wanna be slowing everyone down.”

“Dude,” Hunk says, voice soft and kind. “You _know_ we don’t care about that.”

Lance shrugs again, small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well... can’t blame a guy for being courteous. Besides, it’s not like the crutch is gonna hurt me. I _just_ got the walking boot, so I don’t really want to aggravate my leg by walking too much on it right away.”

“Fair enough,” Hunk says, camera jostling slightly. “Anyway... regionals?”

Lance brightens immediately. “Right! Regionals! We’re here. And everyone is dressed and ready to go-- Hunk, pan the camera.”

“Oh! Right. Sorry.” The camera moves in front of them, revealing the rest of their friends as they walk across the parking lot. “Where’s Coran?” He asks after a moment, camera frame shifting slightly from side to side.

“He’s waaaay up there!” Lance says, his arm coming into the side of the frame, pointing. The camera focuses in the distance, zooming in until a bob of bright orange hair can be seen. “He has to make sure everyone from Altea is organized and stuff backstage, so he’s going ahead.”

The camera shifts up and down, zooming back out. “Make’s sense.”

“Anyway. There’s everyone else,” Lance says, visible hand gesturing.

Allura and Pidge walk side by side, nearly leaning into each other, but not quite. Both of them carry a cup of coffee in their hands, shoulder slouched, heads drooping. They’re wrapped up in hoodies that swallow their frames. Both of them sway precariously, looking like they might fall asleep at any moment. They each carry a small duffle bag in their free hands, bumping into each other as they walk.

Matt stands not to far away. He walks with his hoodie open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He walks with his weight leaned back, head tilted back as he yawns, before hunching his head forward.

Keith and Shiro walk further ahead, off to the side. Keith hunches over, hands shoved in his pockets. Shiro stands close, arm thrown over his shoulder. Their heads are bowed together as they talk, but the camera can’t pick up what they’re saying. Neither of them seem aware of anything else. They both have similar small dufflebags thrown over a shoulder.

The camera turns again, and held up and away, slightly to the side, so that Hunk takes up a majority of the frame, but Lance can be seen in the background, walking beside him. “Everyone is super tired, but also super nervous.” He says, whispering loudly. “But like... a good kind of nervous? Nervous and excited. Or, at least, they _would_ be excited if they weren’t about to fall asleep.”

“They’ll wake up more once we get inside,” Lance says, glancing at the camera with a small smile. “Solos are up first, and then duos and groups go after lunch.”

“Yeah, so Keith is gonna be the first of us to go.” Hunk’s ease melts into worry, brow pinching slightly as his gaze flickers away from the camera, somewhere ahead of them and to the side. “Do you think he’s okay?” He asks, turning to Lance. “He was a little off this morning.”

Lance’s smile is small and fond, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s just nervous. He’ll be fine.”

“Do you think you should talk to him?”

“I will,” He says, expression softening. “After Shiro, though. Don’t wanna interrupt the big bro pep talk.”

“Good point.”

The camera remains on as they reach the other side of the parking lot, people gathering close and crowded as they wait to cross the street, moving as a mob once the light turns. The atmosphere is tense with excitement and nerves. It can be seen in the way everyone holds themselves, in the way they move, in the way their eyes snap around them. Some people deal with it through chattering, while others deal with it through silence. It creates a disjointed atmosphere in the early morning.

The camera stops as the rest of the group gathers. Keith stands off to the side, looking uncertain at the main doors before glancing to the side, where a string of people with bags slung over their shoulders are headed toward another, smaller door.

He takes a step back, turning his gaze to Shiro, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched. He looks small and worried, nerves showing clearly even as he tries to hide them. His gaze flickers around the group.

Allura is the first to start forward, wrapping him up in a hug and pulling him in, despite the coffee cup and bag in her hands. “You’ll do great, Keith. And we’ll be there cheering you on the whole time.” She takes a step back, giving him an encouraging smile before letting her arms drop. His smile is small, doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s genuine.

Matt steps forward, wrapping one arm around him and pulling him into a side hug, shaking him vigorously. “Knock ‘em dead, dude. You’ve got this.”

Pidge steps up and punches his free arm. “Stop worrying. You’re making _me_ nervous. You’ll do great.” They both step away.

The camera shifts off to the side as Hunk steps up to him, camera pointing to the ground. Their legs are captured, Hunk’s and Keith’s, close as they hug. “We believe in you, dude.”

The hug lasts a moment longer before Hunk steps away, camera swinging back up as he does so. It focuses back in on Keith as Shiro steps in to hug him. The hug is long and lingering, Keith letting his forehead rest on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro can be heard mumbling softly to him, but the words are indistinct. When he steps away, gripping Keith’s shoulders for a second, they’re both smiling.

Then Lance is there, shoving his crutch at Shiro to take before wrapping Keith up in his arms, pulling him to his chest. Keith sighs with his whole body, relaxing into him as his arms wrap tightly around Lance’s waist, fingers grasping the back of his shirt tight.

Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck, shoulder and back slumping. Despite his tight trip, he visibly relaxes. Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, one hand lifting to run through his hair, soothing and slow. He leans his head against Keith’s.

“Hey, man...” Lance says, voice a low murmur but just loud enough for the camera to pick up. “You’re gonna do great.”

“What if...” Keith starts, but his words mumble off.

Lance chuckles, shoulders shaking with it. “You’re not gonna fuck this up. I’ve _seen_ you practice, dude. I’ve _been_ there for most of it. Just relax, ignore the audience, and _dance_. This is for _you_. And if you fuck up? Just roll with it. No one will know unless you let them.”

Keith pulls back then, just far enough to lift his head. They still stand close, neither of them quite letting go. What can be seen of Keith’s expression is worried eyes and pursed lips, half hidden by his hair. “I wish you could come with me.” Keith says, voice barely audible.

Lance’s smile is small and soft. “I know,” He says, pushing some of Keith’s hair behind his ear. “But I’ll be there watching you. If you get nervous, just find me. Pretend it’s like any other practice.”

“Okay,” Keith says, but it’s more visible than it is audible. They lean forward at the same time, coming together in a kiss that’s long and languid, sweet and lingering.

Lance pecks his lips quickly, once more, as he pulls away, smiling. “Now go find Coran and get ready.”

Keith gives him a weak smile but steps away. He glances around at everyone, giving them a small, awkward wave, which they all return. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, heading toward the smaller side door. The further he goes, the more confident his steps become, the straighter he stands, the more determined his strides. He lifts his chin, shoulders squared, and only glances back once before disappearing, a visible smile on his lips.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The frame opens up in darkness, bare lights shedding minor details on what’s being shown. Feet and legs, trapped between the seat they sit on and the back of seats in front of them.

The camera turns its angle, and Lance comes into the frame. It’s higher, but not quite as high as his face, aimed up at him. Hunk can be seen sitting next to him, slivers of Shiro showing on Hunk’s other side. They’re sitting in seats, a tall dark ceiling above them, spot lights pointed forward.

Lance’s face is shadowed, but lit by lights coming from ahead. He glances down at the camera, fiddling with it before lifting his head to glance forward again.

“We think Keith is up next.” He says, voice hushed and low, but practically vibrating with anticipation. There’s a smile on his lips. One that he doesn’t look entirely aware of.

“Yeah, there he is!” Hunk says, hitting Lance’s arm, eyes faced forward.

The camera spins, lifting and turning ahead of them. They’re sitting in a large auditorium, seats rising up and spinning around a wide stage that juts out into the audience for a three-fourths view of it. There are balconies above with more seats. The stage in front of them has lights trained on it. There’s a man on stage with a microphone, dressed in a suit and grinning as he walks to the center.

Hunk’s finger points to the corner of the stage, however, and the camera zooms in until a figure can be seen just at the edge of backstage.

“Next up,” The man with the microphone announces, cheerful and at ease. “Please welcome Keith Kogane to the stage, representing Altea Dance Studio.” He steps back, waving a hand out to where Keith detangles himself from the shadows.

The man walks away, disappearing backstage while Keith walks to the center. His pace is slow but confident, with only a minor hesitancy that gives away his nervousness. His chin is lifted high, but there’s a slight hunch to his shoulders. The audience claps and cheers, but none so loud as the row that Lance sits with.

The camera’s microphone is muffled with the screams, claps, and whistles that come from the row of Altea Dance Studio representatives. The camera turns to catch sight of them, half of them standing and throwing hands up to encourage Keith. Their whole group of friends sit together in a row, but the camera moves beyond, showing several rows worth of dancers from Altea, all of them adamantly cheering for Keith.

The camera moves back forward as the cheering dies down. Keith stands center stage, subtly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Wait a second...” Lance says, voice close to the microphone. The camera shifts forward as Lance leans that way. “Holy _crow_ , is he wearing my shirt?” His voice is soft and awed.

“He asked if I could steal it for him.” Hunk says from next to him, sounding proud of himself. “He wanted to wear it as a tribute to you and for good luck.”

Lance makes a noise from behind the camera, following by a drawn out. “ _Keeeeith_.”

Keith is wearing black harem pants, tight around this lower legs and looser near his thighs. His shirt is tight enough to fit his form, but loose enough that it shifts when he moves. It’s not quite long enough to reach his waistband, leaving a sliver of pale skin visible, showing more when he moves. His arms are bare, his favorite fingerless gloves on his hands. Lance’s blue plaid is tied around his waist, giving his dark look a pop of color. A pop of _Lance_.

Keith lifts a hand to shield his eyes, head turning as he scans the audience. A small frown purses his lips.

“He doesn’t know where we are...” Lance says, voice soft with realization and surprise. The camera jostles, tilting to the side. “Keith!” He shouts, loud and pleading. “Keith! Over here!”

Hunk seems to realize what’s going on and joins in, but both of them are drowned out as one of the judges, placed at a raised table in front of the stage, speak through a microphone. “Keith Kogane, are you ready?”

His hand drops from his forehead, but his expression looks more worried than before. Despite this, he offers them a hesitant thumbs up.

“He’s going to choke...” Lance says, voice low and urgent. “ _Fuck_ , he’s going to freeze up.”

“Dude, how do you know?” Hunk asks, urgency matching Lance’s.

“I just _do_ , Hunk! I _know_ him! He was looking for us-- for _me_. He’s going to-- fuck, I need to get out there--“ The camera moves quickly, dropping the stage from sight and showing their legs as Lance stands up. Hunk’s lap comes into focus. “Hunk, take this--“

“Lance, what’re you--“

“He has to see me! I have to-- get out there-- just make sure you record his performance!”

The camera lifts, wobbling as it captures Lance, awkwardly pushing himself to his feet and attempting to get his crutch under his arm. He’s sitting on the end of the row, but it’s still a struggle to get out of the auditorium seat given the small space and the large awkwardness of his boot and crutch.

The music has already started up.

A few rapid notes winding up, filling the auditorium space as the audience settles down. Notes coming back down rhythmically. The camera turns to Keith still standing center stage, shifting his weight, shoulders hunching, one hand rubbing his other arm. His eyes scan the audience rapidly, but his head is turned away.

“ _KEITH!_ ” Lance shouts, loud enough to be heard over the music. The camera whips to the side, where Lance is standing in the aisle between seats, leaning heavily on his crutch while he waves his other hand in the air with wide gestures.

The camera shifts back to the stage in time to see Keith’s head whip around, eyes and head shifting rapidly to pinpoint the source of his name. It’s obvious when he finds it. His eyes widen, mouth parting, pinched expression relaxing in his surprise.

The camera moves to Lance as he lowers his arm, offering Keith a quick thumbs up before it drops to his side. He doesn’t say anything else, but the smile on his face is blinding. He stares at the stage, nothing else fazing him. He looks at ease there, leaning against his crutch, smiling at Keith like they’re the only ones in the room.

He doesn’t say anything more.

The camera moves back to the stage, and Keith is smiling. His entire body has lifted, shoulders pull back, weight distributed evenly, head held high. He looks lighter, more at ease. Nothing about his expression is pinched anymore, and his dark eyes seem to sparkle beneath the spotlights. As he turns his body to face the front of the stage, his head remains turned toward Lance, grin fading into a more controlled, small smirk.

His body seems to roll a little bit, weight shifting from foot to foot with it, shoulders bobbing along even as his head remains in place, feeling out the beat.

Then the beat drops, the lyrics start, and Keith is in motion. From zero to sixty in a single beat.

Movements sharp and wide, an arm shooting up, elbow angle sharp, moving his hand around his head. His hips and his entire body roll with it. It rolls into a pose, holding it just long enough for the pose to be noticed before he’s moving again. He lifts up a knee, hands going behind his head with his elbows out. He takes a step, sliding forward with a brief moment of slow motion. Back foot lifting up, falling with his arms as his body bends before popping back up, brief quick motions following, almost robotic.

His back leg swings out and then forward, snapping him back to facing front strange.

Keith’s choreography is sharp and quick, interspersed with moments of slow rolls and defined poses. It moves with the beat, matching the sharp accents and rolling melody. His hips pop, legs twisting and stepping, arms gesturing wildly. He goes from robotic, to smooth movements, to jerking quickness in seconds.

The movement is wild and styled, grabbing, demanding, and keeping attention. One would be afraid to look away for fear of missing something, staring enraptured and leaning on his every movement, eager for the next.

His movements have attitude. Head and expression matching. It fits with the song, with the music, with the groove. All of it syncs together cohesively. He moves around the stage, owning it. Movements wild and controlled. No moment is boring. No moment is slow.

He tosses his head and rolls his hips, taking advantage of the sweep of his hair and the control he has over his body. With each wild movement, his shirt rides up, revealing a pale and toned stomach before the next movement hides it again. Lance’s blue plaid flairs out around him as he spins, accentuating each roll and grind of his hips.

It’s clear that he knows his body, and he knows how to use it. The stiffness around him, the hardness, the reluctance, all melts away as he dances. Showing a side of Keith that’s softer, but still sharp with edges. Edges that are both dangerous and exhilarating. As alluring as they are threatening.

It doesn’t take long before his smile becomes apparent, slipping through the cracks of his mask when his face becomes visible. It’s clear that not only does he know he’s doing well, but he’s _enjoying_ himself. It adds a whole new level of excitement to his dance.

As the chorus builds, there are several quick to slow movements, ones that are sassy in essence, playful in the way they’re delivered. Whips of his head and claps of his hands. All of it that are just hints of Lance’s touch and guidance, leaking their way into Keith’s choreography.

As the last word belts out, fading to nothing, Keith hits a pose, holding it as the music starts to fade out. His hair is wild, half covering his face. His shoulders and chest are heaving with every breath he takes, exposed skin glistening slightly in the spotlights.

Then the music fades out, the audience cheers, and Keith eases out of his pose with a smile.

The camera jostles as Hunk stands, shouting along with everyone else around him. Keith grins on stage, bowing slightly before lifting a hand to wave. As he turns to leave, his head stops, eyes locking onto the aisle nearby. His grin is no less wide, but it softens at the edges before he turns and hurries off stage.

The camera turns to Lance, still standing in the aisle. He’s leaning against the crutch, both hands on it as he casually stands there. His head is tilted to the side, a fond smile on his face and a soft look in his eyes.

He looks happy. He looks proud. He looks like a man in love.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The camera cuts on, revealing a brightly lit hallway with linoleum floors, a painted concrete wall covered in posters and paintings on one side, and a wall of windows on the other side. The hallway is wide and filled with people, some milling around in groups and others walking through. The voices of general conversation fade to a background din.

The camera’s angle is fairly low compared to previous recordings, indicating someone shorter is holding it.

“Do you see him yet?” Pidge’s voice comes from off screen.

“Maybe he got lost? It _is_ pretty crowded here, and the back rooms _are_ pretty confusing.” Hunk says, his body barely visible in the edge of the screen. The group stands around, all facing toward an open double door, where people are filing out of and moving into the hallway traffic.

“He’ll be here,” Shiro says, standing tall and confident, arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on the door.

“I wonder what’s taking so long,” Matt says, hands in his pockets, leaning his weight to one side as he glances around the hallway. “I feel like everyone’s left already. There can’t be much more back there.” He lifts a hand, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “We’ve gotta grab food before you guys have to start getting ready. The break for lunch is only so long.”

“Coran is probably talking to them.” Allura says, hands behind her back, bouncing on her heels, chin lifted to see higher. “He likes to give pep talks to the dancers before and after the performances.”

“And he can get... a little long winded.” Shiro says, not unkindly.

“There he is!” Lance says, voice loud with excitement yet managing to be breathless all the same. The camera focuses on where Lance is suddenly moving, walking quickly, using his singular crutch as a way to swing himself faster, propel himself forward.

The frame shifts ahead of him, to where Keith has come out of the door, bag over his shoulder and looking around with a slight pinch to his brows. He stops when he sees Lance coming toward him, a smile breaking out across his face for a second before they meet and his expression is hidden.

His bag drops to the floor, as does Lance’s crutch. Their embrace is solid, both of them grasping each other, wobbling back and forth. Then Lance’s arms wrap around Keith’s waist, and he picks him up. Keith lets out a wordless shout, wrapping his arms around Lance’s shoulders as Lance spins him around.

They get bigger and the camera shakes as Pidge and the rest of them hurry over to join the two. Lance has put Keith back down, hands moving to cup his face, their foreheads pressed together. The camera moves to the side, below their face level, peering up between them to capture the soft smile and watery eyes on Keith’s face.

“You were _amazing_ ,” Lance says, voice low and breathy, but the camera picks it up all the same.

Their moment is destroyed when Hunk pushes past the camera, making it whirl and shake as Pidge stumbles to the side. When it refocuses on the two, they’re both wrapped up tight in Hunk’s arms, both of them crushed together and lifted off the ground.

“Keith, that was _so cool!_ ”

Shiro’s hand lands on Keith’s shoulder, catching his attention. Shiro’s smile is wide and proud. “You did great.”

“We knew you could do it!” Allura says, throwing her arms around the three of them, though she can’t reach very far.

“Hey!” Pidge says, indignant as the camera frame lifts, shifting slightly but keeping the group hug in the shot.

“Go on,” Matt says, voice soft and fond. In the bottom of the frame, Matt’s hand pushes Pidge toward the group. “Get in there.”

Pidge gives the camera a crooked smile before launching themself toward the group, throwing their arms around Keith just as Hunk lowers them to the ground.

Matt chuckles softly, keeping the camera trained on the group hug.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

Lance takes up one side of the frame, once again in the auditorium, face lit by light from the stage, shadows around them. Keith is on the other side of the frame, sitting next to him, ducking down a little to get into the shot, giving the camera a small smile and a little wave.

Lance’s free arm is around his shoulders, and Keith leans to his side. He’s now wearing the blue plaid shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Here we go,” He says in a loud whisper, grinning. “Round two.”

The camera swivels to show Matt, sitting at his other side. He turns to the camera, giving it two thumbs up with a wide, crooked grin. Then he turns his attention forward, practically sitting on the edge of his seat.

The camera moves to follow his gaze, focusing on the stage. The host stands with a microphone, gesturing behind him. “Please welcome to the stage, Pidge Holt and Hunk Garrett, from Altea Dance Studio!”

He walks away as Pidge and Hunk take to the stage, side by side, grinning widely and waving to the audience. Lance’s cheers and screams drown out Keith’s, but it doesn’t compare to the hollers that leave Matt.

They stop when they reach center stage, grabbing each other hand and bowing dramatically in sync. They’re both dressed to match. Both with straight, dark blue jeans, ending in plain converses. They’re both wearing button downs, Pidge’s a muted light green and Hunk’s a muted yellow. Overtop that they each have matching ivory blazers, worn loose and open. Their accessories are matching suspenders, bowties, and a driver’s cap atop each of their heads.

When they straighten, they let go of each other’s hands and step to the side to give each other space.

“Pidge and Hunk, are you two ready?”

They both give an enthusiastic thumbs up, and the music begins to play.

It starts out with a couple loud notes, immediately dropping low, building with short, jagged notes to a rag time rhythm. As it builds, Hunk and Pidge start to walk forward, each step exaggerated, robotic, each movement stiff and ragged. They wave, tug at the lapels of their jackets, nod to the audience, bright grins on their faces.

Pidge tips their cap.

As the main beat drops, rising the volume of the music, Hunk poses, feet and arms pointed to Pidge, head turned toward them. Pidge follows the movement to that side, half putting their back to him. They do a lot of quick movements with their arms, letting the movement roll down their torso to their legs. It jitters down their body, making the roll smooth but jerky, shaking down their legs to bounce back up to their arms.

They flare out their arms, like the momentum is tossing them around, unable to control it. Then as a beat drops, they twist and term, freezing with their arm out, palm pointed toward Hunk.

As if the beat were tossed out of their hand, leaving them motionless, they freeze as Hunk picks up the movement.

It rolls through Hunk’s body, into his far arm, body twisting to face forward. It shakes down his legs before bouncing back up. It weaves through his arms, legs still shifting with it. It rolls out to his far arm. When it reaches his hand, he turns, freezing as if throwing the beat back at Pidge.

Pidge is already in movement, a different series of movements that are more in their arms than anything, before pointing at Hunk, who takes it away on his own. His movements are shorter, all in his arms. He steps his legs together, and as he does, Pidge strikes another pose.

They freeze, for half a second, suspended in time while they look at each other, and then they’re moving. It’s a jive, swinging and rolling with the music, opposite of each other and slightly different, but somehow still in sync. They take several steps back, and then they lock in sync together, stepping forward with the beat, taking a step to the side.

They move together. Each movement with the beat. They slide and snap into place, moving from perfectly in sync to directly opposite each other so quickly that it’s hard to pinpoint the moments they deviate.

Their movements are fun, flamboyant, and riles up the crowd. It’s not technical and dangerous and seductive, full of raw and intense energy as Keith had been. It’s fun. It’s easy. It’s quick and complicated, but they do it with sun high energy that it looks simple. Smiles remain on their faces through out it all, encouraging the crowd to smile along with them.

They play off their jackets. They tip their caps. They go from smooth and big movements into sharp jagged, robotic ones. They take turns dancing, one of them striking a pose and pointing at the other, either with fingers or just a dramatic turn of their heads, smiling as they freeze, chest heaving as they pant, while the other goes off on their own series of movements. Only to throw the beat right back. Then they shift back to synchronized movements like they had never left it.

Somehow they manage to put on a performance that leaves them each completely unique and individual, but synchronized enough that it’s clear that they’re a pair, and that the dance would be lacking without the other.

They slide from synchronization into separate movements, looking like they’re both going off on their own, but then dragging it back together by playing off one another.

It doesn’t look like a duo who practiced and drilled choreography into the ground. It looks like two friends having fun on stage. It’s complicated and technical, high energy and difficult, but they do it in such a way that it doesn’t _feel_ that way.

Their energy is addicting, transfixing, and the crowd starts clapping and cheering along with them.

When they strike their final pose, looking like robots shutting down, arms out and bent in front of them, legs frozen, backs straight as they bend forward, they hold the pose as the music fades out. Then the audience roars.

The camera jerks up as Lance stands, cheering loudly, camera jostling. Other people stand to clap. Pidge and Hunk hold hands to bow deep to all sides of the stage before waving and turning to walk back.

Matt’s whistles and cheers are louder than anyone else’s, close to the microphone. His voice can be heard above the crowd, screaming at the top of his lungs: “ _That’s my sibling!_ ”

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

When the camera cuts back on, it’s pointed at the stage. Shiro and Allura stand there, feet shoulder width apart, heads bowed toward the floor. Shiro stands to Allura side but several steps behind. The lights pointed at the stage are soft and subdued, muted hues that set the atmosphere for the performance.

“Here we go,” Comes Lance’s voice, a hushed and excited whisper from behind the camera.

The music starts up, the recognizable opening refrain of _Just Give Me a Reason_.

As soon as the music starts, Shiro lifts his head slowly, walking forward casually but rhythmically, until he stands just over Allura’s shoulder. She slowly lifts her head. Both of their expressions are soft and pained, without the slightest hint of a smile.

As the lyrics start, Shiro lifts a hand, splayed wide, in front of Allura’s chest, held away from her and moving it in slow, dramatic circles. She then slowly, starts to lean forward, until she’s falling. He catches her with his hand, immediately pushing her back. Her arms go up and out as she falls back, and he moves back with her, catching her with arms beneath hers. He lowers her gently to the ground, but before she touches the stage, her knees bend, and he lifts her back up. She straightens, leaning forward, arms out behind her. Shiro leans back, holding onto her arms to keep her from falling.

They let go with one hand, free arms going out as they turn to look at each other. Allura spins around, positioning herself next to Shiro, slightly behind. She wraps an arm around his neck, leaning into his shoulder from behind. He bends his legs, and she leans down with him, extending a leg straight behind her, toe pointed.

Then Shiro is standing, jumping, and Allura is curling up her knees to move with him.

They move together, slowly and gracefully, not a movement out of place or uncontrolled. Allura is graceful and strong, body controlled and in place, even when falling to the stage or being lifted. She moves like water. She moves like the music is pulling at her, and she is a puppet, a slave to the tugging of her strings.

And if she is the water, then Shiro is the current. Driving her forward, guiding her, lifting her, spinning her, moving each motion into the next. He’s strong, lifting her and moving her with controlled precision, but he moves with his own easy grace. They work together, not like gears, but like two birds in flight, weaving around each other.

Their movements move quick and slow, bending and twisting with the rhythm of the music, of the canter of the lyrics, like the words are the pull at their strings and they have no choice but to obey.

When the chorus hits, Shiro throws Allura to the side. She lands on light feet and then the two of them are moving in synchronized motions. Not touching, but perfectly together. Big sweeping motions, pointed toes, legs spinning and bodies bending. They slide into a near split, using the downward momentum to roll across the floor.

And then their synchronization breaks, Shiro lying on his back as Allura moves over top him. They hold hands as she leans her weight into his feet and he holds her up while she moves her legs. And then she’s lowered slowly to his chest, only to be pushed away between his legs as they sit up.

Shiro wraps her up in a hug from behind, expression pained as he rests his cheek against her shoulder. She grabs his arms, twisting back and forth, face pinched in pain as she makes a show of struggling to get away. When she does, she stands, hand still on his forearm to pull him to his feet. She moves out and away before bouncing back, spinning and planting a foot on his thigh and lip, immediately standing up and wrapping her thighs around his neck. He holds her there, spins, her arms and legs out.

Then the second verse drops and she falls with the momentum of their spin, immediately being caught in Shiro’s arms. The control and strength of it is extraordinary, making it seem to easy and graceful, smooth and casual.

Their performance is a story. It moves with the music, with the tale of the song. It showcases the emotion coming across in the notes, in the singers’ voices. It’s reflected on their expressions, both of them looking pained and torn, half the time with their eyes closed. It’s in the minor performances of their actions, the way they tell a story of struggles.

And still they manage to compliment each other perfectly. Shiro moves and guides Allura, an accessory to her beauty and grace, showcasing all her talents, moving her through poses as if she were a doll on display, a background hand. Yet Allura acts as a prop to Shiro’s talent. His guiding of her, his control, his strength, his own grace. They each stand out individually, yet they each put each other’s strengths on display. They compliment each other in a way that’s so fluid, so whole and complete, that the dance, the _performance_ can’t exist without the other. Neither of them is the star. They are the show _together_. Two halves of the same whole. Trusting. Loving. Complete.

It has emotional depth. It has a story. The dance and the performers move so effortlessly with the song that they seem one in the same. There’s a trust between them, a push and pull, a tug and release. Each touch is a whisper. Each touch is a passion.

They own the stage. They own the auditorium. Demanding attention and refusing to let it go. Yet they dance like they’re alone. They build their performance like a personal moment. A conversation. An argument. A make up. All between them. No one else to see. Yet on display for everyone.

When Shiro lifts Allura high over his head, the music pauses, a note held, a moment of suspense. They both stand frozen, a moment suspended in time, statues on stage as the tension of silence stretches. Shiro doesn’t shake, nor does Allura’s pose collapse. They hold. Perfect and pristine.

The audience begins to holler, clapping and cheering as the music starts back up and Shiro slowly lowers Allura to the ground. The cheers are heartfelt, honest, and raw. The two of them on stage stand close, touches painful and personal. Neither of them dancing, yet still completely within the performance.

When they begin to move again, it’s in motions reminiscence of earlier in the song. Callbacks to the beginning as the chorus builds again, yet with new vigor.

As the music dies down, Shiro is left sitting on the floor, knees up, head bowed and scratching his head as Allura slowly paces away. Then she turns, striding back around behind him. A soft touch on his neck, and he stands, spinning around and around as he rises. Then they’re facing each other, wrapping each other up in a hug, foreheads touching as the last notes fade out.

They hold the pose, chests and shoulders heaving with breath, as the audience erupts around them. Loud, chaotic, and heartfelt.

They slowly step away from each other, torn and hurt expressions gone in favor of wide grins. They hold hands as they bow, all traces of the emotional performance shed from their shoulders. Their steps are lighter as they turn to walk off stage.

The camera shakes and jostles, rising as Lance moves to his feet. His shouts and cheers blend in with Matts, high pitched whistles and claps. What can be seen of the audience seems to be standing, and the applause lasts long after Shiro and Allura leave the stage.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

 

* * *

 

**[ R E C O R D I N G . . . ]**

The camera cuts on, blurring for a moment on a yellow button down with suspenders. Then it zooms out, Hunk coming into focus. The camera shifts upward, until Hunk’s upper half is in the bottom part of the frame, and Pidge is in the upper half. They sit atop his broad shoulders, legs hanging down in front of him, where Hunk holds on loosely. Their hands rest casually on Hunk’s head, head turned as they survey the crowd from their vantage point, a slight pinch to their brows.

“And there they are! The stars of the evening!” Matt’s voice says, bright and cheerful.

Hunk grins, but Pidge rolls their eyes. “Matt, please.”

“Come _ooon_ ,” He says, light and playful. The camera shifts as he adjusts. “Show it off.”

Pidge rolls their eyes again, but a crooked smile slowly tugs at their lips. They sigh, loud and long, putting a thick layer of exasperation behind it. “ _Fine_.”

They sit up a little straighter, pulling up the ribbon that’s hanging around their neck, putting the silver metal on display. Hunk let’s go of one of their legs and lifts his own, grin bright and proud. The bright hallway light catches on the metal, making it glint and shine.

“Ta-daaaa!” Matt says, his arm coming into the frame as he gestures toward the two of them, waving his fingers out like jazz hands.

“It’s just the fan favorite award,” Pidge says, letting their metal drop back to their chest. Both of them have abandoned their jackets, rolling their sleeves up to their elbows. “It’s not even like we placed.”

“Yeah,” Hunk says, letting his metal drop and resting his hand back on Pidge’s leg hanging over his shoulder.” His eyes are slightly lidded, grin turning smug. “But we’re the fan favorite two years in a _row_.”

“Fuck yeah, we are.”

Hunk lets go of them with on hand, lifting a fist casually. Pidge barely glances at it, but bumps it with proud enthusiasm. The grin on their face betrays their attempt at nonchalance.

“Hey Hunk, turn a bit so I can get a better view.” They say, idly patting at his cheek. Their voice is soft enough to be private, but still picked up by the camera.

Hunk obliges, half turning so Pidge has a better view down the hallway. Their eyes are sharp and calculating, smile fading as their lips purse in concentration. “You see him yet?”

“No... I hope the idiot didn’t get lost...”

“He’s been here before. He won’t get lost.”

“Yeah, but...”

Hunk pats their knee. “He’ll be fine. He’s got a crutch and a boot, remember? Just give him a few more minutes.”

Pidge huffs, but their eyes remain fixed down the hall.

“ _Nyooom_ ,” Matt mumbles the sound effects as the camera moves to the side, to where Shiro, Allura, and Keith stand, talking amongst themselves. “Now you guys!” He says louder, catching their attention. All three of them turn to look, blinking in brief confusion. “Show the goods!”

Clarity seems to light in their eyes, and Shiro takes a step closer to Allura, wrapping an arm around her waist as he leans over, lifting up the silver metal that rests around his neck. Allura grins, holding up her own metal with one hand and offering a peace sign with the other.

“I still think you guys should’ve gotten first.” Matt says, camera zooming in on Allura’s metal. The second place symbol is barely visible as the camera refuses to focus. The frame zooms back out.

“Right?” Hunk says, body turning in the edges of the frame to face them, despite Pidge’s wordless protest. “They were _so good_.”

“It’s alright,” Shiro says, bashful smile on his lips, posture at ease. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Second place isn’t so bad.”

“Besides,” Allura adds, letting her metal fall back to her chest. “We still qualified for nationals.”

“Now _that’s_ gonna be a fun road trip.” Matt says with a laugh in his voice.

“I can’t wait to be Shiro and Allura’s groupies,” Hunk says from off screen, smile evident in his voice.

Keith turns to glance at Shiro. He stands with his weight to one side, arms crossed loosely over his chest. A small smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Lance and I are already making plans on how to embarrass you.”

Shiro laughs, “I suppose I deserve that.”

“You do,” Keith says flatly. “After years of embarrassing me, this is going to be payback.” He turns then, eyes drifting around the hall, flickering between people. The smile fades from his lips, replaced by a small frown. “Speaking of Lance... where is he?”

The camera jostles as Matt shrugs. “Who knows? He’s always off doing something.” He says nonchalantly.

“He’s, uh... probably helping Coran? Or something?” Hunk offers with significantly less grace, followed by a sheepish laugh. “I’m sure he’ll turn up. Eventually. Probably. Soon?”

“Smooth, Hunk.” Pidge says, voice flat and low. “Real smooth.”

“Anyway,” Matt says, abruptly changing the subject, and the camera shifts until Keith is centered. “Your turn, dude. Show the goods. Let’s go.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but lifts a hand to hook his thumb into the ribbon, holding the bronze metal off his chest. “It’s just third place.” He mumbles. “I didn’t even qualify. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, not a big deal?” Pidge says, incredulous. “You got _third place_ out of the solo performances after only having _barely two months_ to practice. That’s half the time the rest of us got.”

Keith shrugs, looking sheepish and bashful as he looks away, letting the metal drop as he crosses his arms back over his chest, shoulders rising a fraction. “Yeah, well... it was based on choreography I already had started, so...”

“Still,” Shiro says, taking a step closer and putting a hand on his shoulder. Keith looks up at him, and Shiro beams, soft and fond. “We’re all proud of you.”

Keith’s smile is small, edges of his expression softening. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Pidge’s urgent hiss is barely picked up by the camera’s microphone. The frame shifts until Pidge and Hunk are back in it, and Pidge is subtly pointing down the hall with a nod of their head. Hunk’s eyes widen before squinting at the bottoms with a smile.

“Oh man, he’s coming...” He mutters, bouncing from foot to foot, causing Pidge to sway on his shoulders.

The camera turns back back to the others, dropping a fraction. Just enough that the corner of the frame picks up Matt’s foot as he kicks Allura’s leg. She looks at him, surprised, and the camera tilts to the side slightly, in the same direction Pidge had gestured.

Allura’s gaze follows the motion, looking off to the side before brightening considerably. Her smile is only there for a moment before she forces it down into something more sly. She winks at the camera before stepping up to Keith.

“I wonder what’s keeping Coran.” She says, slipping an arm in Keith’s, locking their elbows, and turning him around to stare down the other side of the hall, putting their backs to the camera. “Can you see him?” She asks, innocent and curious as she goes up on her toes, putting her free hand to her forehead to shield her eyes, lifting her chin.

Shiro watches them curiously, face blank and one eyebrow raised. He then turns to the camera, eyes hovering just above it as he stares at Matt. His confusion deepens for a moment before he turns in the direction Allura had a moment before. His face immediately lights up.

Shiro smiles, taking a step to the side, walking past Keith to gently pull Allura away from him. Keith watches the exchange, brows furrowed in confusion.

The camera shifts as a flash of red moves in front of it. The red forms a bouquet of roses. A dozen of them. Lance leans down until his face is in the camera frame, a sly smile on his lips as he puts a finger to them, winking before he straightens.

He hobbles forward a few more steps, stopping just behind Keith. He has one crutch wedged under his right arm, leaning into it to keep weight mostly off his boot. He holds the bouquet of roses in his free hand, a lazy smile on his lips.

The camera moves to capture them from the side as Matt steps closer to Shiro and Allura. Keith catches the movement and looks at him, eyebrows raised. Then he catches Lance in the corner of his eye and turns further to look at him.

His jaw promptly drops, eyes widening as his jaw goes slack. His lips part, wide eyes flickering from the roses to Lance’s face, then back to the roses. He turns all the way around slowly, arms across his chest relaxing but not quite falling. His lips shut abruptly, pursing, expression contorting, mouth opening and closing, but he can’t seem to find words.

He looks back up at Lance, a strange pleading look in his eyes, head tilted just a fraction to the side.

Lance’s smile widens just a little, showing a little more teeth and eyes going soft as he says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Keith echoes, sounding lost, confused, and breathless.

“These are for you.” Lance holds out the flowers, and Keith just stares at them. After neither of them move for several, long seconds, Lance’s smile turns amused but his voice goes soft. “They’re _flowers_ , Keith. They’re not gonna bite you.”

Keith’s lips purse, pressing together tight as red rises up his neck to settle on his cheeks. He reaches out quickly to snatch the flowers from him, but when he touches them, his movements turn softer, and he takes the bouquet gently, pulling them to his chest, cradling them with both arms. His head ducks down, half of his face hidden by his bangs. He shifts the flowers higher, bowing his head, attempting to be subtle about smelling them.

It’s not subtle.

“I... didn’t even win,” He finally manages to say, keeping his head bowed but lifting his eyes to gaze up at Lance.

Lance chuckles. He shrugs with one shoulder, lifting up his free hand to run his fingers through Keith’s hair, pushing it out of his face and tucking strands behind his ear. “Doesn’t matter. You were _amazing_.” He says, voice soft and intimate. “I’m so proud of you.”

Keith gives up on subtly and ducks his face to hide in the flowers, shoulders rising and falling as he takes in a deep breath. “Thanks, Lance,” He says with the exhale. He lifts his head, tilting it to the side as he gazes up at him openly, expression gentle and eyes fond. His smile is small on his lips, but lifts the rest of his face. He stares at Lance like they’re the only two people in the hall. “They’re beautiful.”

Lance’s smile crooks a little higher, head cocking a little to the side. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

“Lance,” Keith says, exasperation fringed with fondness. He reaches out and shoves Lance, who laughs as he rocks backwards. But then Keith’s hand is gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him forcefully forward, going up on his toes to meet him.

The kiss starts rough, but melts instantly, both of them easing into one another, coming closer, leaning into each other. They get as close as they can without crushing the roses between them. Keith’s grip eases, but his hand remains curled into Lance’s shirt. Lance’s arm winding around Keith’s waist.

Their kiss ends, but they press their foreheads together, both of them smiling soft, intimate smiles.

“Next year we’re going to take the gold,” Lance says, voice slightly hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Keith crooks a smile, leaning back to look Lance over. “Next year?”

“Yeah,” Lance’s smile turns sheepish. “If you, you know... want to dance with me again? For real this time. Not because we both fucked up, and Shiro forces us together with the disapproving dad face.”

There’s a snort of amusement from off screen.

“Yeah,” Keith says, relaxing back on his heels. The hand on Lance’s chest slides up to his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. “If you think you could keep up.”

Lance leans forward, grin turning sly and playful. He bumps his forehead against Keith’s, noses brushing together as he whispers, breathless and teasing, “Try me, Keithy boy.”

Both of them lean into the kiss, two puzzle pieces snapping into place.

Behind the camera, Matt wolf whistles loudly, followed by several loud, high pitched exclamations of, “ _Ow, ow, owwww! Get some, boys!_.”

“Look at my baby brother,” Shiro says off screen, voice loud and choked, filled with fake tears. “Taking third place at regionals and sucking face in the hallway. I’m so proud.”

“They grow up so fast!” Allura cries out, just as choked up with dramatic tears. “It seems like just yesterday they were sucking face at the studio!”

“ _Awwwww_ ,” Hunk coos loudly, followed by several more wordless exclamations.

Pidge makes loud gagging noises next to him.

In the background, people are starting to turn their heads, curious and drawn to the noise that everyone is making. Their gazes settle on Keith and Lance, still lip locked. Some smile. Some look away. Several more whistles and hollers come from somewhere in the crowd.

Despite neither of them moving away, their lips can be seen tugging up into hidden smiles.

They both let go of each other long enough to flip off the camera, causing a chorus of laughter.

**[ E N D  R E C O R D I N G ]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Keith's Regional Dance:** [Good Luck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdz004VOWHk)  
>  **Hunk and Pidge's Regional Dance:** [Catgroove](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKXhXd1YI7k)  
>  **Shiro and Allura's Regional Dance:** [Just Give Me A Reason](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9ymaoQHJN4)
> 
> This is the last chapter of the main storyline, and the next and final chapter will be an epilogue. The epilogue is already finished and available for Early Access. You can visit my social media for more details on that. 
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **DO NOT REPOST THE ART FROM THIS FIC.** This includes platforms such as **instagram** and **pinterest.**
> 
> Reblog it from the artist: [tumblr](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/169317186259/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-chapter-14-update) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters/status/934590074284593152)  
>    
> [Wittyy's Tumblr (author and co-creator)](http://www.wittyy-name.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName)  
> [Sora's Tumblr (artist and co-creator)](http://www.wolfpainters.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjomRnyqkn5S2g9EoUt2ifdevEp_XqQx6)  
> [Shut Up and Dance With Me Tumblr](http://shutup-and-dance-with-me.tumblr.com/)


	15. Epilogue: We Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lets his gaze linger on Keith’s form, the way his body moves. He’s graceful but powerful. A threat and strength rolling and shifting beneath the fluidity of his movements. 
> 
> It’s incredibly fascinating.
> 
> It’s incredibly hot. 
> 
> Lance finds his gaze lingering longer than necessary, head staying turned toward him even as he moves, like a compass facing north. Drawn to him. Transfixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the final installment and epilogue! This chapter isn't as long as the last few have been, rolling in at 10k, but we didn't feel like it needed to be any longer. 
> 
> This is honestly just some fluff and smut to push us across the finish line. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for joining us on this adventure! This fic ended up SO MUCH longer than we expected, but it's been one hell of a ride. But all rides gotta end, and it's time to focus on TMWM and move onto other stories. Follow me on tumblr or twitter to keep up with new things I'll be writing.
> 
> _Note: this chapter contains smut. It's very obvious when it's about to happen. They very obviously talk about it. If smut makes you uncomfortable or you're not interested in that, just stop reading around there. The story ends with a couple paragraphs of soft tenderness, but there's nothing plot important that you'll miss._
> 
> You'll notice Sora hasn't done any art for this chapter. Instead, she's worked hard on a photoset featuring the gang in their Team Voltron outfits from chapter twelve. That's linked in the end notes!
> 
> _NEW: Check out the end notes for the link to the SUADWM AMV that I made!_
> 
> Happy reading!

“Okay, but we should _totally_ look into auditioning as a group.”

“Lance,” Pidge says flatly, in a tone that’s equal parts exasperated and fond. “You _just_ learned how to dance with someone else. Do you _really_ think jumping into group choreography is a good idea?”

Lance scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I could handle it.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure _we_ could handle _you_.”

“Now that’s just _rude_. You guys love me.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re easy to work with, buddy.” Hunk says, apologetic and kind. A hand reaches over to pat him, but it’s a blind reach at an awkward angle, so fingers just end up groping and brushing at his shoulder and the side of his face. 

“Keith can work with me,” He tilts his head back as far as he can to look up at the boy in question. “Right, babe?” He tries to hit him with the pouty lip and the big, watery eyes, but Keith isn’t looking at him. His head remains turned to the side, eyes fixed on Pidge’s computer screen. He does, however, catch the slightly quirk at the corner of Keith’s lips. It’s just enough to lift his entire expression. 

“Just because I _can_ doesn’t mean it’s _easy_ ,” He says, but unlike Pidge, his voice is perhaps one part flat amusement and _two_ parts fondness. 

“Oh, stuff it, mullet.” Lance reaches up behind him to idly swat at Keith’s head, catching at his hair. 

Keith doesn’t even look as he reaches up to push his hand away. “Keep calling me that, and I’m gonna shave it.”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it. Keith likes his hair like it is, and he knows that Lance does, too. He loves getting it tugged, and Lance loves running his fingers through it. Still, that doesn’t stop him from threatening to cut it frequently, just as it doesn’t stop Lance from reacting to the threat.

Lance gasps loudly, voice rising. “Don’t you _dare_.” 

“I dunno how you do it, dude,” Hunk says with a shake of his head, patting Keith on the shoulder. 

“Someone has to,” Keith says gravely. 

Lance makes an indignant sound, but his protest dies on his tongue as Keith reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. The movements are slow and methodical, idle and familiar in the way his blunt nails scratch as Lance’s scalp, moving through the short strands with practiced ease. 

He relaxes instantly, slouching just a little further. He can feel Keith’s chest shake with silent laughter, but he opts to ignore it in favor of tilting his chin up, nuzzling into Keith’s hand. He can laugh all he wants. Point is, it feels good. He lets his eyes fall closed as he sighs softly.

“I’m proud of you for teaching him how to play nice with others,” Pidge says. “But I’m not sure he’s ready for that big of a group.”

Lance reaches out blindly, to shove their shoulder. “Okay, but seriously,” He says, opening his eyes. He turns slightly to gesture to Pidge’s laptop screen. YouTube is pulled up, and the music video for _Handclap_ is playing. “Just image all of us dancing to this. Shiro and Allura can be in the center, and all of us can be the dancers around them. All wearing morphsuits and shit. We can even get Matt in on it!”

Pidge snorts. “Now I _know_ you’re joking. Despite being a DJ, Matt surprisingly has two left feet, no balance, and zero rhythm.”

Lance just grins. “True, but he’d definitely have fun with it.”

“And _we’d_ have a fun time watching,” Hunk adds. 

“Maybe another time,” Pidge hums. “Definitely not for regionals.”

“No fun,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest again. He leans his head back, closing his eyes once more and absorbing himself in the feeling of Keith’s fingers carding through his hair. “No sense of adventure.”

“Guess I’ll have you all to myself for at least another year.” Keith drawls. Lance can tell he’s aiming for a dry monotone, but it’s lifting at the edges. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Thanks for taking one for the team, buddy.” Hunk says, and Lance feels Keith shake slightly as Hunk pats his shoulder. 

He just snorts, but keeps his eyes closed. 

They’re sitting on the floor of Pidge and Hunk’s usual practice room. Keith and Hunk sit back to back, leaning against each other for support. Pidge sits between them, leaning back against them both with their laptop propped up in their lap. Keith’s knees are pulled up and his legs spread just far enough for Lance to sit between them, leaning back against his chest, legs stretched out in front of them. 

It’s comfortable. It’s cozy. It’s incredibly natural. 

Lance finds it hard to believe there was ever a time where Keith _wasn’t_ part of their little group. He’s become so closely integrated to the point where memories of their time before Keith seem distant and surreal. 

They continue to click through YouTube, sometimes staying on a song for minutes and other times staying for only seconds. 

As it turns out, Keith is actually very insightful when it comes to shuffling through songs. He knows Pidge and Hunk’s styles by now, the things they can do together, and he has an eye and imagination for the direction choreography can go just by listening to songs. 

He’s going to go far one day. He’s talented and passionate, and he has a drive that will take him places. 

Once upon a time, that thought might have ignited sour embers of jealousy. Now he only feels pride.

“What about this one?” Pidge asks as a new song starts up. 

Lance cracks his eyes open and tilts his head back. He can see the slight pinch to Keith’s brow as he stares at the screen, lips pursing and relaxing as he thinks. His fingers continue to move through Lance’s hair, but the rhythm and movements adjust to each song that plays. 

It’s still a scowl, but it’s his concentrated scowl. A thoughtful one. And Lance can practically see the gears working behind his eyes, minut flickers as he watches a dance unfold in his mind’s eye.

It’s cute. Really cute. 

They’ve been dating for nearly a year, and Lance _still_ feels the tightness in his chest and the fluttering in his stomach. 

He’s still pretty sure Keith is bad for his health, but he’s not dead yet, and at least if he _does_ die, he’ll die happy. 

Finally, Keith shakes his head. A quick, sharp gesture that has his hair shifting over his forehead. “No, you can find a better one.”

Pidge tilts their head. “You sure?”

Keith nods, decisive. “Yeah. It’s good, and you guys could definitely do it, but there aren’t enough opportunities for your...” He trails off, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Quick stuff. The strength in your style is the quick steps combined with the slow, more basic playful moments. This song doesn’t give you enough opportunities to show that.”

“Gotta be flashy for auditions if you wanna get to regionals,” Lance says, closing his eyes once more and leaning his head back against Keith’s shoulder. His lips quirk into a small smirk. “And you gotta get into regionals so we can kick your asses.”

“I hope we all make it this year.” Hunk says, almost wistful.

“We will,” Lance says at the same time Keith and Pidge do. They all glance at each other, exchanging grins. 

“We’re all getting in, but Keith and I are still gonna kick your asses. Gonna knock Shiro and Allura off their pedestal, too.”

Pidge snorts. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, they may have synergy, but _we_ have chemistry.” He says, dropping his voice to a low purr. 

Keith’s sharp exhale serves as a short laugh. “And you think they _don’t_ have chemistry?”

Lance shrugs. “They’re like setting fire to magnesium. Pretty and bright. But _we’re_ like setting thermite on fire. Explosive. Chaotic. Bright. Hot. Intense.” He leans his head back, catching Keith’s eye and waggling his eyebrows. “ _Passionate_.” 

Keith struggles to keep his smirk down, but it’s a losing battle. They both know it. It’s cute that he still attempts to hide his amusement after all this time. Says it _feeds his ego_ , or some nonsense like that. Lance just sees it as a challenge, and every laugh he can get out of Keith feels like a victory. 

“Keep your passion in your pants, casanova,” Pidge says dryly. 

Lance straightens a little, smirk widening and words getting rhythmic as he says, “But I ain’t afraid to show it...”

“Show it, show it...” Hunk immediately echoes, under his breath but still audible. 

There’s a pause before they both burst out, “ _I’m sexy and I know it._ ”

Pidge groans, and Keith heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising and falling dramatically. But when Lance glances up, he can see the way Keith’s eyes are crinkling at the edges. 

“Okay, but seriously, how do you even _know_ about magnesium and thermite reactions?” Hunk asks. 

“Hunk, please, I paid attention during chemistry.”

“I sat _next to you_ during chemistry. You drew comics about moles the whole time.”

“We binge watched Mythbusters over the weekend,” Keith says, fingers moving through Lance’s hair again. “Then we started looking up different chemical reactions and explosions that we could do at home.”

“Um... do I wanna know?”

Lance feels Keith shrug. “Probably not.”

“If you guys are gonna start setting off explosions, you _better_ invite me.” Pidge says, idly scrolling through their playlist. 

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you out, pidgeon.” Lance holds out a fist, and Pidge bumps it without looking. 

They spend the next ten minutes shuffling through songs. Pidge and Hunk pull up songs they feel a connection to, and Keith gives his input. Lance, also, provides input, but it’s not always as appreciated. None of them seem to care what memories and associations he has with particular songs. They _do_ , however, appreciate when he remembers what songs have been done before. 

When his phone alarm goes off, Lance pushes himself to his feet, pulling Keith up after him. 

“Later, nerds,” He says as he swings his bag over his shoulder, striding across the room. “We’ve got our own song to choose.”

“Try not to take months to do it this time,” Hunk calls after them. 

“And try not to argue loudly about it, either. Or we’ll cut your power again,” Pidge adds.

He spins on his heel, walking backwards a couple steps to stick his tongue out at them. Keith doesn’t turn, but he does hold up one hand, flipping them off over his shoulder. He catches Lance’s eye, smirk small on his lips. Lance laughs as he spins, stepping out into the hallway. 

He throws an arm lazily over Keith’s shoulders, leaning slightly into him as they walk. Keith doesn’t react as it happens, nothing save for a small curve of his lips. One hand in his pocket, he flips through his phone with the other. They climb the stairs to the fourth floor in easy silence, with nothing but Lance’s soft humming to fill the space. 

As much as he loves talking with Keith, he’s found peace in the silence. There’s something calming about being able to be still. To stop moving. To just let himself relax.

He’s spent his whole life moving. Dancing. Fighting. Moving forward. Searching. Restless. Grasping for more. Never content. 

But with Keith, he’s able to simply... stop. To hear the music in the silence. To feel the peace in the moments of stillness. With Keith, he doesn’t need to fill the void. He doesn’t need to keep reaching. He’s just… _happy_. 

He doesn’t need to move when he’s content with how Keith holds him steady. 

He throws the door to room 4D open wide, pulling away from Keith to spin his way to the center of the room, using his momentum to fling his bag to the floor, letting it slide over to bump harmlessly into the mirror. He strikes a pose, leaning to one side on a bent knee, other leg stretched out behind him and pointed, head bowed, one hand covering his face while his other gestures to the door.  
“Lights!”

He hears a snort of amusement and a flick of the lightswitch. A second later, the fluorescent lights buzz to life. 

“Camera!” He spins into another pose, standing up a little straighter, pointing to the corner of the ceiling where the security camera is mounted. 

He spins around, pointing to Keith. He freezes mid step, eyes widening for a second in his surprise. 

Lance smirks, tilting his chin down a fraction and quirking a finger at him as he purrs, “ _Action._ ”

Keith snorts again, rolling his eyes as he starts walking again. “You are such a dork.”

“But I’m your dork, babe.”

“Lucky me,” Keith says dryly, dropping his bag by Lance’s and moving to where the auxiliary cable waits. He grabs it, plugging it into his phone. 

Lance siddles up behind him, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Keith relaxes into his hold instantly, still flipping through his phone to pull up his music. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, voice soft. 

“I told you that we’d try it your way this time, didn’t I?” He pulls Lance’s bluetooth remote out of his pocket, taking a moment to sync it up with his phone before setting it down on the table. He turns then, twisting in Lance’s arms. 

“Just making sure,” Lance mumbles, smile on his lips. 

Keith rests one hand on his chest, holding up the remote between them like an offering. There’s a small smirk on his lips. “Would you like to have the honors?”

“Of course,” Lance plucks the remote from his grip, hitting play and leaning in to press a quick and fleeting kiss to Keith’s lips. “Just follow my lead.” He says, voice a whisper and smirk playful as he pulls away, catching Keith’s fingers lightly in his own and tugging him toward the center of the room. 

He spins Keith into him, until his arm is wrapped around him and Keith’s back presses up against his chest. They share a knowing smile before Lance steps away and spins him out. Their fingers slip apart and Keith steps away, a fluidity in his movements.

“Remember--“

“I know, I know,” Keith says, rolling his eyes as he spins on his heel, arms coming up close to his chest. “Let you know if I feel _it_.”

Lance grins. “Now you’re catching on.”

Lance has gone through this process hundreds of times before. Sometimes to find a song, sometimes for fun, sometimes to simply let go and turn his brain off for a while. It’s his time to zone out. To really just let it go. To let himself _feel_ without bothering to _think_. 

It’s always felt like freedom. 

He always thought it would be a process that would be best done alone. What he’s finding, however, is that dancing like this with Keith is better than anything he could have imagined. 

He’s gotten a lot more comfortable in his own skin, less affected by watching eyes. He even dances with them at the park now, and he has fun doing it. Lance will gladly take the credit for it, and whenever he sees Keith dancing in front of others with little to no preparation, he feels a white hot burst of pride shoot through him and settle warm in his gut. 

They move around the room, two satellites revolving around one another. They come together, touches fleeting, smiles playful. They grab hands, using their own momentum to move past the other, to move each other. They roll with each other’s guidance, seamlessly passing the lead from one to the other. Hands trail along shoulders, sliding down arms before slipping away. They come in close, embracing each other’s space, bodies coming close before the momentum shifts, flinging them apart once more. 

It’s playful. Teasing. Fleeting. No matter how often they move apart, they’re always drawn back to one another. Magnets never fully free of the other’s pull. 

He doesn’t count the seconds before changing the song. He’s done this enough that he just knows when it’s time. Just long enough to get a feel for it. Just long enough to know that the feeling isn’t quite _right_. He trusts his gut. It’s gotten him this far. And he trusts Keith will speak up if he thinks a song deserves a little more inspection. As it stands, however, Keith seems content to trust Lance’s decisions whenever he skips to the next song. 

Lance closes his eyes, lets the music simply roll through him, lets it pull at his strings and move him along. Despite letting himself go, he’s aware of his space. Aware of where he is in relation to the room. He can hear Keith moving around him. He doesn’t _need_ to open his eyes to see where he is, to find where Keith is stepping around him. But he does it anyway.

He lets his gaze linger on Keith’s form, the way his body moves. He’s graceful but powerful. A threat and strength rolling and shifting beneath the fluidity of his movements. 

It’s incredibly fascinating.

It’s incredibly hot. 

Lance finds his gaze lingering longer than necessary, head staying turned toward him even as he moves, like a compass facing north. Drawn to him. Transfixed. 

Keith catches his eye on occasion, but Lance doesn’t try to hide his stares. Nor does Keith look particularly put out by it. There’s no hesitation. He’s not self conscious. If anything, his smile turns sly. His movements turn just a fraction more suggestive. It’s nothing overtly obvious. Just a little more fluid here, a little more of a bend there, an extra body roll. 

It sets Lance’s blood on fire and his heart into overdrive.

There’s a challenge in Keith’s eye, a playfulness in his smirk. 

And really, when has Lance ever been able to turn down a challenge?

He turns up the volume on his own movements, becoming more in tuned with his body, pulling out all the little tricks and stops that he _knows_ Keith likes. All the things he’s learned drive Keith crazy. All the movements that have often caused Keith to stare, eyes glazed and jaw dropped. Typically right before he surges forward and pulls Lance to him. 

And judging from the look on Keith’s face, it’s working. 

They stop the playful touches, but they move further into each other’s space. Together and then away. Never fully touching, but leaning in all the same. Eyes dragging and lingering. Breath hot in the space between them. It leaves goosebumps on Lance’s skin, hypersensitive and _aching_ for touch. 

He can see Keith go through a similar struggle. Can see it in his eyes. In the way his fingers flex. In the tension in his shoulders when they pull apart. 

Neither of them give in, and Lance knows neither of them will. 

It’s a game, and they both play to win. 

They’ll pull the tension. They’ll stretch the moment. They’ll build it and build it until they both snap. They’ll go until they got get tugged together by a force neither of them can control, unsure of who moves first. 

They’ve just come together, lips nearly touching, hands held behind their backs, before they spin away, giving each other room to breathe. It had been difficult to let him go that time, and Lance knows he’s close to cracking. He can tell Keith is, too. There’s an energy about him, vibrating between them, sparking and crackling. It’s how he looks at him, violent eyes dark and hungry. 

They haven’t found a song for auditions yet, but Lance has stopped paying attention. 

That is, until he changes the song and a familiar word belts out, held and cracking as low piano notes accompany the lyrics. 

_”Hooooold. Hold on.”_

Lance’s rhythm stutters to a stop. He usually has a pause between songs, a stretched moment while his momentum finds the new beat and the new pace. This is different. He stops. 

_”Hold onto me.”_

He spins on his heel, eyes widening just a fraction, small genuine smile tugging at his lips. Keith has stopped, too. He’s starting toward the front of the room, aimed a little upwards, expression blank and lips parted. Then he catches sight of Lance in the mirror, and his head turns slowly until their eyes lock. 

_”Cause I’m a little unsteady.”_

Lance’s smile widens for just a moment before it softens. “This song takes us back.” 

Keith’s lips twitch, a gentle roll of his eyes. “Yeah, back when you were insufferable.”

He doesn’t know who moves first, but they’re moving toward each other, slow and fluid steps, unrushed, unhurried, coming to a stop only a foot apart. 

“ _A little unsteady._ ”

“You mean back when you were trying to hide how much you wanted to kiss me?” He tilts his head a little to the side, leaning in, hands in his pockets. 

Keith smirks, arms crossed over his chest. “It was a constant struggle between wanting to punch you and kiss you.”

“I’m glad kissing won.”

“Me, too.”

_”Hooooold. Hold on.”_

Lance reaches up, knuckles of his fingers brushing along Keith’s cheekbone. God, he loves those cheekbones. Loves it even more when Keith leans into the touch, lashes fluttering just slightly. “Think you remember the dance they taught us?” He asks, voice pitched low, soft. He aims for teasing and ends up with fond. 

There’s a spark in Keith’s eyes, an amused tilt to his lips. “Of course, I do.”

“ _Hold onto me.”_

Lance chuckles, low and breathy. “Someone’s cocky.”

“Try me.”

“I’d love to.” He slips the bluetooth remote into his pocket, both hands going to Keith’s, holding them between them. He lifts them up, bowing his head to brush his lips against his knuckles. “Just try to keep up.”

Keith’s voice matches his, low and teasing, breathless and ragged along the edges. “Try not to drop me.”

_”Cause I’m a little unsteady.”_

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_”A little unsteady...”_

At the next heavy downbeat, they break apart. Pushing off each other’s hands, slipping from each other’s grip, they tear away, bodies ripping, staggering, stumbling. They aren’t close enough to the walls to lean against them, but they make do. Lance drags his feet, arms heavy, head hanging. He moves as if weights hang off of him, off his limbs and his heart. 

This particular dance requires a very specific mindset, an emotional show, a story told through gestures and expressions. Exactly the sort of thing that Shiro and Allura do, and exactly the sort of thing they would teach them. They had managed to learn the dance before he broke his leg, and they had touched up their knowledge of it a couple times since he healed. But they haven’t touched it in months. 

But it all comes back to him instantly. The music clicking into place in his head, putting him in the right headspace for the dance. For the story. His body goes through the movements, heavy and tortured, heart torn and full and chaotic. 

Unsteady, in body, heart, and mind. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith doing the same, going through his own motions, seamlessly slipping into character. 

He thinks Shiro and Allura would be proud of them. Maybe they should perform for their friends at some point. Show them how much they’ve learned. But not now. Right here, right now, this is for them. Him and Keith. 

They turn toward each other as the music builds, and Lance puts a hand to Keith’s chest to stop his momentum, slipping one behind to support his back as Keith’s torso rolls like he’s shoving him. He leans back into Lance’s hold before they move back up, his arms going around Lance’s neck as Lance uses one arm to lift and roll him over his own body.

They turn around, Keith’s feet back on the ground, hands hands on Lance’s head, fingers in his hair. Lance buries his face in Keith’s neck, running his nose over the collum of his throat, taking a moment to inhale deeply. He smells like sweat, the spice of his deodorant, and that odd indescribable scent that Lance has just associated with _Keith_. It sends fire through his veins, especially when Keith tilts his head back to accommodate the movements, breath hitching in his throat at Lance’s touch. 

Lance’s hands slide down his sides, digging into his hips as he pushes him away. A beat passes and then their arms shoot out, grabbing each other by the forearm as they both lean back, lowering themselves with bent knees.

Then they’re standing back up, Keith guiding Lance around until his back is to his chest. Keith’s hands slide beneath his arms, lifting him up, setting him down, leaning over him. They roll away from each other, pulling away only to reach a tension and springing back, coming together once again. 

Lance catches Keith beneath the arms as he falls, lifting him back up. Keith’s back ends up against his chest, and Lance buries his face in the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed. One of Keith’s hands finds its way into his hair. Lance’s hands slide down Keith’s body.

All too soon, he’s pushing Keith away into a spin. Their eyes lock, dark with emotion, chaotic and heavy. LIps parted. Chests heaving with each breath. 

Then Keith’s back is to him, arms out, knees bent, and Lance is running at him. He leaps onto his back, knees bent, spinning around him slowly and controlled as Keith straightens. Keith lowers him to the ground slowly, hands gentle and firm on his neck, leaving trails of fire. 

Their foreheads touch for just a moment, and Lance feels heat surge through him. He can feel Keith’s breath on his lips. He can feel the need and the reluctance as Keith’s hands slip away, the desire to hold on. He knows it has little to do with the dance and everything to do with wanting to pull him closer. Lance feels it, too. 

They go through the motions of the dance. It’s a push and pull. An uncontrollable need to be closer. A decision to push away. An inability to stay away. A torn and tortured heart. Body heavy with indecision. They come together. They tear away. Their touches are lingering, breaths heavy. Throughout it all, they support each other, pulling each other up when they fall, lifting one another, never letting the other stay down. 

It’s a lot like them, Lance thinks. A story of what they once were. He’s able to exist in it, to pull at that emotion and let it tug at his heart. He’s able to simply exist in that moment because he knows that when the song is over and their dance is done, he and Keith are no longer unsteady. 

They’re stable. Together. Happy.

He’s proud of how far they’ve come. He’s proud of Keith. He’s proud of himself. 

As the song trails to it’s end, they’re left holding each other, Lance’s arms around Keith’s neck, Keith’s around Lance’s waist. Keith lifts him just enough so his feet dance, turning them in a slow circle before setting him back on the ground. Their heads rest against one another, temples touching, chins hooked over each other’s shoulders. 

He can feel Keith’s chest heaving against his own, his breath brushing past the hair around his ear. Lance closes his eyes as their bodies rock together. Lets the moment wash over him. Simply takes it in. Focuses on every hard plane and soft angle of Keith’s body pressed against him. Like he’s done a hundred times before, yet it always manages to surprise him, put him in a state of awe. He always manages to find something new he adores, something he seems to have forgotten, a constant reminder of just how much he loves the feeling of Keith.

Of just how much he loves Keith.

The song changes, something more upbeat starts up, but they stay like that. Clinging to one another. Gently rocking. Keith’s arms tighten just a fraction, and Lance nuzzles a little deeper into the curve of his neck. His heartbeat is heavy against his ribs, but he thinks if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel Keith’s pounding, too. As if they were reaching for each other, desperate to sync up. 

After a long moment, Lance pulls back, arms slipping from around his neck to slide into the space between them. Keith reacts to the movement, pulling his head back to look at him. Lance doesn’t let him go far. His hands catch on the back of Keith’s neck, fingers rising up to tangle into the long strands there. They move up, palms cupping Keith’s jaw, thumbs brushing gently over his sharp cheekbones. 

Lance tilts his head a fraction and smiles, feeling his eyes go half-lidded as his gaze flickers down to Keith’s lips. They’re beautiful. Pouty. Pink. Slightly chapped because the guy doesn’t know how to take care of his skin. Lance loves them all the same. Wants to feel them. So he does. 

He leans forward, tugging Keith to him, tilting his chin up to capture his lips. Keith moves into him easily, leaning up, pushing their bodies together. It’s just a slight difference, one that’s barely visible, but one that Lance can feel all the same. And it feels like Keith’s melting into him, melding them together, as eager as Lance is to simply be _close_. 

Fingers curl into the back of Lance’s shirt as he licks the seam of Keith’s lips, as that pouty mouth opens for him, letting Lance in before his tongue is pushing back. It’s an easy give. A push and pull. A rhythm that they know and have mastered. It’s a song that they both know by heart. A rhythm that starts out gentle and sweet, tender and soft, with each touch reverent and light. 

It’s a song that builds to the chorus, with touches getting firmer, more insistent, more needy. Desperate for more. _Hungry_ for more. It’s a song that stretches the tension. A song that stokes the embers until they reach a burning flame by the time the chorus drops, bright and wild and passionate. 

There’s a pounding bass echoing through the room, vibrating through the floors. Lyrics that are quick and rhythmic. There’s a lifting melody, one that drives forward relentlessly, but Lance barely hears it. He’s too attuned to their own song. 

It’s slow, melding, building. It’s in the way Keith’s hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt. In the way blunt nails dig into his back. It’s in the way one of Lance’s hands slides back into Keith’s hair, fingers tangling in the strands before tightening, tugging, not hard enough to heard but enough to sting. It’s in the way Keith gasps, the sound cut off as Lance pushes his tongue past Keith’s lips once more. In the way his other hand slides down Keith’s side, resting at the curve of his waist, thumb slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to stroke over his hip bone. 

Lance tugs at his hair again, a wave of heat rolling through him at the low groan that catches in Keith’s throat. Keith breaks away, turning his head to breathe, tilting his head in a way that exposes his neck. It’s an offering. It’s a plea. Lance’s lips drag down his jaw, nipping along the curve of it before sliding down to his neck. He trails open mouthed kisses down his neck, out so the fabric of his shirt before dragging his teeth back up his neck, light and teasing. 

He stops when he reaches Keith’s ear, letting his breath wash over him in a way he knows drives Keith crazy. He’s rewarded when he feels Keith’s back arch, pushing their hips closer together, his hands digging more into Lance’s back as his body seems to slump against him, wound tight but unable to stand on his own. 

Lance smirks, pressing it to the hollow beneath Keith’s ear so he can feel it. “Remember that thing we talked about?” He asks, voice pitched low, words spoken slow and deliberate. He can feel the goosebumps rising on Keith’s skin. 

“Hmm?” He hums, vibrations low in his throat. It’s distant, distract, and that in and of itself is a victory. 

“About christening this room.” Lance rolls his hips, hand slipping around to rest flat against Keith’s lower back, fingers splayed wide, supporting him as he feels Keith’s knees shake. “ _Officially_.”

Keith’s hands slide higher up his back, clutching at his shoulder blades as Lance slips a thigh between Keith’s. “We agreed it would be too risky.” He says it sternly, but his voice is breathy, and it poses the statement more like a question. 

Lance bites at his neck, playful and just hard enough to hear his breath hitch before pressing a kiss to the spot, lips moving against his skin as he speaks, “Some things are worth the risk.”

Before Keith can protest further, Lance lifts his head, pressing his lips down to Keith’s. Plump. Chapped. Soft. _Perfect_. 

Keith’s back arches just a fraction more, just enough that has his head tilting up, to the side, sweetening their angle and pressing into the kiss. When Lance’s tongue sweeps across Keith’s lips, they part without hesitation, so insistently that Lance has to wonder if Keith had been craving this exact touch or if he just knows when Lance is about to go for it himself.

Maybe they’re just in sync enough that it doesn’t matter who wants it first. It doesn’t matter if Lance was the first to press forward because Keith is right there pressing back. His tongue finds Lance’s, hungry and demanding. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, tugging playfully until Lance chases after him. A push and pull. A give and take.

Their breaths are hot and heavy between them, half gasps and sharp exhales through their noses, whistling across cheeks. Keith’s fingers curl into the back of Lance’s shirt, and Lance rolls his hips, loving the deep sound that rumbles out of the back of Keith’s throat and hands grabbing at his hips, encouraging him to follow the motion. 

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith groans, but it’s not a pleasured one, nor is it a blissful one. It’s one of frustration, but Lance knows the stages of Keith’s frustration to know that it’s not aimed at him. Not really. 

Lance hums his question, and when Keith tilts his head back, Lance trails his lips down to press them to the hollow beneath his jaw. He _feels_ the shudder run through Keith beneath his hands. 

“The camera.” Hands tug at the back of Lance’s shirt but seem stuck between pulling him away and pulling him closer. 

“What about it?” His voice is a deep rumble as his lips move against Keith’s skin. He asks it before he really hears the question. It sinks in slowly, drifting lazily down before settling in, and he turns the words over in his head again and again until--

 _Oh._ The camera. 

Right.

That’s a thing.

“Pidge’s gonna kill us if we ask them to delete shit again.”

And that is a true statement. 

He slumps against Keith, and the sudden change would have knocked him off balance if Lance hadn’t been holding him up. His arms sag, dragging his hands loosely down Keith’s body as his head falls to Keith’s shoulder. “Mmmm, true.” 

Keith’s grip on his shirt loosens, but he doesn’t let go. Nor does he move away. He remains plastered to Lance, front to front, legs slotted together and chests pressed tight, and _fuck_ , does Lance want this. He really, really fucking wants this. And worse? He _knows_ Keith wants it, too. 

But that damn camera. 

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing at the dangling camera in the corner. 

He disentangles himself from Keith slowly, giving him plenty of time to readjust his balance as Lance pulls away. He lets him go, hesitant, watching him with brows furrowed and lips pressed into a small frown. 

Lance glances sideways at him as he passed, letting the edges of his lips curl into a small smirk as he winked. It only made Keith’s frown deepen, and Lance had to bite back a laugh. 

He moves away from Keith, walking toward the corner with the camera. He reaches behind him, grabbing his shirt and tugging it over his head. He stops beneath the camera, weighs the shirt in his hand, and eyed the distance. He rears back and tosses--

It misses and falls to the floor.

Second try--

It catches for a second, and Lance holds his breath, but then it slips off and falls. He catches it and tries again. 

This time it sticks, hanging over the camera lens. 

He pumps a fist into the air, a grin on his lips as he turns back to Keith. 

He’s watching him, hip cocked out to the side and smile tugging at his lips. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes all the same. It isn’t loud, nor does he laugh, but the lines of his amusement are etched deeply into the softening curves of his face. Subtle, yet so extremely obvious that Lance wonders how he ever thought Keith was expressionless and dull. 

Lance saunters back across the room, each step slow and precise, extremely aware of how his body moves and exaggerating every rolling motion as he watches Keith’s eyes rake up and down his chest. 

His gaze slides back up to Lance’s as he gets close, looking up at him through his lashes, eyes dark and lidded. They reach for each other at the same time. Lance lifts his arms to casually stretch them over Keith’s shoulders, fingers lightly intertwining behind his head. Keith’s hand rise to his hips, thumbs idly rubbing over his hip bones, causing shivers to run down his spine. Lance doesn’t  
even try to hide it, just arches his back to put himself a little closer. 

“Took care of the camera,” He says, playful, light, but bordering on breathless.

He’s gratified when Keith’s voice is just as wrecked, deep and crackling on the edges. “I can see that.”

Lance’s smile widens just a fraction, head tilting to the side. He lifts his chin, putting their lips close, so close, but not quite touching. He can feel Keith’s breath on his mouth, a promise he holds himself back from, if only to revel in the way Keith’s hands tighten on his hips, sliding up to spread his fingers over Lance’s waist. The leather of his gloves is smooth and warm against his skin, but his fingertips are licks of fire. 

“What’d you say about christening the room now?” He tilts his chin a little more as he asks it, brushing his bottom lip against Keith’s. Just the barest touch before pulling away, lips crooking upward as Keith leans forward to give chase. 

“I’d say it’d be a waste not to.” The answer is a low and rumbling, mumbled through lips that barely move but sending a violent shudder through him all the same. 

Keith leans forward to capture his lips, and Lance leans back, opening his mouth up to Keith’s greedy tongue. He arches his back, pressing hips and chest into him, tightening his arms around Keith’s neck. Warm and hungry hands move up and down his sides, fingers curled just enough, wrapping around to drag blunt nails down his back. 

Lance gasps, a soft sound escaping his throat, and Keith nips at his bottom lip, pulling back with a smirk tugging at his eyes. 

“Too bad we don’t have anything,” Lance says, pushing his hips forward to grind against Keith’s in a full body roll. He tilts his chin to waggle his eyebrows. “Or we could _really_ christen this room, you know, more than we... already... what’re you doing?” 

Goosebumps rise to his chest as Keith moves away from him, arms falling to his sides before instinct kicks in and he slips his hands into his pockets. He watched with a raised brow, lips pursed into a small, curious frown as Keith moves across the room. He crouches when he reaches their bags, digging through his own while balancing on the balls of his feet. 

He doesn’t answer Lance’s question, and Lance doesn’t bother prying. 

When Keith stands and turns, brandishing a half empty bottle of lube and a condom, Lance laughs. It bubbles out of him, unexpected and genuine, causing him to bend at the waist, shoulders shaking. Keith grins, bright and toothy, cheeks rising to crinkle the edges of his eyes. 

“Keith, what the _fuck_ ,” Lance wheezes between laughs. 

He tries to tone his grin down. He really does. Lance can see the struggle to rein it back into a more controlled smirk, but it still glitters in his eyes. He shrugs, coming to stop in front of him, idly eyeing the things in his hand. “You keep insisting we make out in weird places but get upset when we don’t have the option of going further. Thought I’d start being more prepared.”

“You make it sound like I’m not satisfied by your hands and mouth, because let me just say, I am _very_ satisfied by both of those.” That earns him a roll of the eyes, but Lance just grins. He reaches out to grab Keith by the hips, pulling Keith closer. He leans forward, moving to kiss him but shifting to the side at the last moment, running his nose along Keith’s cheek. “And you say that like you’re _not_ the one who dragged me to the make out corner at work during my break last week and shoved a hand down my pants.”

Keith chuckles, soft and breathy. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I certainly didn’t then, and I’m not complaining now. I’m just stating, for the record, you’re as bad as I am.”

Keith hums and turns his head, chasing after Lance’s lips until he can capture them, leading Lance through a long and languid kiss, soft but firm. There’s a promise in it, an underlying intensity that he can feel in the pressure of their kiss, a tease as his tongue flicks across Lance’s lips but doesn’t move further. 

“So how’d you wanna do this?” He turns his head to break the kiss, eyes opening for only a moment before fluttering shut as Keith’s lips trail across his jaw to his ear, breath hot as he whispers. 

“I’m going to ride you until you can’t see straight.”

“Oh,” Lance manages to get out, voice cracking in a way he’s not proud of but can’t necessarily help. A shudder pulses through him as Keith kisses his neck, lips dragging down to his collarbone before biting down, pulling a low groan from Lance’s throat, rough and ragged. 

He pulls back, pressing a quick kiss to Keith’s little pout before sinking to his knees, hands trailing down Keith’s sides, over his hips, feeling the strength of his thighs beneath the thin fabric of his pants. He tilts his head back, smiling coy as Keith’s pout dissolves, lips parting and eyes going lidded. 

Lance knows that look. He fucking loves that look. He’d do anything for that look. 

Which is why he doesn’t care about the unforgiving wood of the dance room floor digging into his knees as he noses at the waistband of Keith’s pants. He pushes up the hem of his shirt just far enough to press his lips to the sensitive skin just below his navel, running his lips from hip bone to hip bone as his fingers hook into his waistband and pull down both pants and boxers, letting them pool at his feet. 

Keith is waiting for him, heavy and eager, and his breath catches loudly as Lance wraps his fingers around his length. Lance smiles as he leans forward, unable to help the upturn of his lips even as he takes Keith’s tip into his mouth, feels it even as he slides further down, letting out a soft groan simply because he knows Keith likes it when he does. 

Fingers curl into his hair, and he lets his eyes drift closed. He slides down Keith’s length, lips hitting his own fingers before he pulls back, dragging his tongue lazily along the underside. 

The song changes, and Lance finds himself bobbing his head along with the rhythm, humming lightly as he does so. The fingers tense in his hair, and he cracks his eyes open, peering up at Keith, feeling a smirk lift his cheeks and crinkle the edges of his eyes as the small frown he finds there. 

Then he sucks hard, pulling off and teasing the tip, enjoying the way Keith’s small frown disappears as his lips part with a gasp, head falling back as a low groan rumbles from deep in his throat.  
“ _Lance_ ,” He says, voice breathless and cracking. 

It’s a warning. 

It’s a demand. 

It’s a plea. 

He takes the lube from Keith, slicking up his fingers while continuing to tease him with his tongue. Setting the bottle aside, he reaches back to grip his length, mouth sinking down once more as fingers reach around to press between his cheeks. Keith’s legs shift further apart automatically, moving to accommodate him, leaning forward just a fraction. 

Lance teases him for a moment before pressing in, letting him get used to it before moving. Even this has a rhythm by now. Motions that they’ve gone through countless times before. Motions that never seem to get old. Motions they fall into with the same enthusiasm and vigor, anticipation making everything sharp, nerves on end as they await each touch, each sensation racing through them with crackling sparks. 

Keith is always the impatient one. Always trying to rush and chase and push, push, push, until they’re both out of breath and shaking. Lance is the one who tries to take it slow, stretch the moments, build it gradually with lingering touches, making them quake with anticipation until they’re both clinging desperately as they tip over the edge. Keith cries out, desperate and hungry as Lance builds his climax lazily, and Lance babbles incoherently as Keith takes the pace fast and quick, shoving them to the top and toppling them over the edge. 

Here and now, Lance can feel Keith’s impatience. He can feel it in the way Keith’s hips start to can’t as Lance adds a second finger, trying to take his time to let him get used to it. Fingers in his hair tighten, body jerking as he’s torn between pushing into Lance’s mouth or against his fingers. When Lance glances up, Keith’s eyes are closed tight, brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

He’s beautiful.

Lance’s eyes drift closed, focusing on the task at hand, building him up, stretching him, using all the small tricks that he’s learned to draw out his favorite sounds. The occasional gasp and groan that rises above the sound of the music sends heat coiling low in his gut. 

Then the hand slides to the back of his head, fingers curling in tight, pulling him back, mouth sliding off of him, tilting his head back until their gazes meet. His other hand is at Lance’s shoulder, pushing him back, shuddering as fingers slip out of him. 

He pushes until Lance loses his balance, falling back to the floor, one hand behind him. He watches as Keith steps out of his pants, kicking off his shoes before chasing after him, settling on top of him, straddling his hips, leaning forward to crush their lips together in a hungry kiss, tongues sloppy, pushing until they’re both falling. 

Lance’s back hits the floor, hands diving into Keith’s hair, curling into the thick strands, tugging just hard enough that Keith growls into the kiss, teeth biting at his lips. 

Hands fumbling between them, fingers tugging at his waistband, pulling it down, cool air rushing to meet heated skin. Fingers wrap around him, flushed and sensitive, eager and waiting. Lance gasps into Keith’s mouth, and he swallows it down, cutting him off with a swipe of his tongue. Lance clings to him as Keith strokes him.

Then Keith’s lips are gone, leaving him reeling. The tearing of wrapping. Hands on him again, sliding the condom on. Then Keith is back, lips catching his, pressing tight. A kiss that has the edge of desperation pushing them close, but the lingering fondness that leaves it gentle. A full press, lips melding together as Keith positions himself over him. 

Groans shared between them as he sinks down. Lance’s hands on Keith’s hips, grabbing tight to flesh, nails digging in as his back arches. Breaths sharp and quick, whistling through noses and brushing across cheeks. One of Keith’s hands pressed to Lance’s chest, the other pressed to the floor beside them. 

Moments pass. A few tentative cants of his hips. A slow rise and fall as he gets used to the feeling, adjusts to it. Lips sloppy and uncoordinated but no less eager as they take in the sensations. 

Then Keith is breaking away, sitting up, hands on Lance’s chest to help him balance. He lifts himself up, holding it, making eye contact, lips parted and eyes lidded. He lowers himself quickly, ass coming into contact with Lance’s thighs, ripping a groan from both of them. 

He builds a rhythm, rising on his knees before bringing himself back down, quickly falling into sync with the music pounding through the speakers, vibrating through the floor beneath them. Lance lies back, eyes hooded, locked onto Keith as he rides him, unable to look away. Gaze trailing along his features, the tilt of his chin, the slender curve of his neck, the way his body rolls, the way his hips cant, confident and sure. 

His hands cling to Keith’s hips, helping him along, holding on to ground himself, encouraging as Keith builds their pace, pressure building with the climax of the song. With every fall, a sound rips from Keith’s lips, wordless cries, soft and barely audible if Lance hadn’t been listening for them. 

Lance is less subtle about it, not bothering to hold himself back. He lets the sounds fall from his lips, pulled from his throat with every exhale. He knows Keith likes to hear him. Likes that Keith likes to hear him. Doesn’t bother holding back when the music will cover it up anyway. 

The hands on his chest flex, fingers curling into his skin. Keith’s head bows, hair falling in a curtain around his face, features pinched and strained. His movements lose their coordination, trusting eagerly but losing the rhythm of it, desperate for more but unable to find it. 

He doesn’t think before acting. Just sits up and wraps an arm around Keith’s back. Flips them over and presses him down to the floor. Holds his hips up as he presses into him, bends over him and captures his lips as Keith lifts his head to meet him halfway. Holds Keith in place as his hips snap forward, off beat to the music, rushed and erratic. Knees dig into the hardwood floor, but he ignores the ache. All he can do is chase the pleasure, chase the sensation of Keith tight and warm around him, thrust into that heat as it builds in his gut, coils low and hot, pressure building until it’s all the drives him, all he can think and feel.

His head drops to Keith’s shoulder, face pressed into his neck, breaths drifting hot and heavy across his collarbones. “ _Keith_.”

“Lance-- _fuck_ \--“ His back arches, head tossed to the side as Lance presses sloppy kisses and uncoordinated bites to his neck.

He keeps up his pace, far too wound up to slow down now, chasing that feeling that’s _so close_. He’s close-- close-- “Fuck--“ He pushes his head into Keith’s shoulder, one hand holding on desperately to Keith’s hip as the other moves between them, wraps around Keith’s length, stroking him quick, desperate, attempting to pace it with his own thrusts. “ _Keith_ \--“

Keith arches into him. Attempts at his name falling from Keith’s lips. Fingers clutch at the short strands of his hair. Nails dig into the back of his shoulder, arms tightening around him. “Please-- _fuck_ \-- I’m--” 

Then he’s gasping, sound choking off into a groan as heat spills out over Lance’s hand. running over his knuckles as Lance strokes him through it, the ragged sound of Keith’s moan tipping Lance over the edge, hips jerking as pleasure rolls over him, tightening in his gut, muscles clenching as his body spasms with it. 

Then he’s collapsing on top of Keith, both of their chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, heat radiating from them both. 

With a groan that’s half satisfied and half in protest, Lance pulls out of him, rolling off to the side to give them both room to breathe. He peels the condom off, tying it and tossing it to the side to deal with later.

They lay like that as the song changes. Then another. Breaths coming softer until they fade beneath the music. Lance shirtless and pants pushed below his hips. Keith with his lower half exposed, shirt rising up to his chest. 

Lance reaches out, staring at the ceiling as he blindly gropes until he finds Keith’s hand, pulls it toward him and presses a kiss to his wrist, his palm, his knuckles. His head falls to the side to find Keith already watching him, eyes hooded, dark irises hazy and eyes crinkling at the edges. Lips curved into a small, fond smile. Barely noticeable save for the way it lights up his entire face. 

Lance grins back, rolling onto his side to reach out with his free hand, lazily trailing his knuckles along Keith’s cheekbones, feeling the curve of it down to his jaw, letting his fingertips drift across soft skin as Keith’s eyes flutter shut, chin lifting as he hums. 

His stomach twists, chest fluttering with a tickling warmth. One that makes him feel breathless. Weightless. One that spreads out through his limbs, making his nerves tingle and toes curl. One that has his body squirming, unable to sit still. One that makes him feel drifting and grounded all at once. 

A smile tugs at his lips, slipping through the exhaustion. It’s a smile he finds himself having a lot around Keith. One that he can’t seem to hold back. One that slips onto his lips without his permission. One that he feels in his stomach, making him feel too full, chest too tight, ready to burst. 

He presses a thumb to Keith’s lips, pad of it brushing lightly across the plump, bruised skin. Keith’s lashes are long and dark against the smooth paleness of his cheeks. His face is relaxed. Still as porcelain. No crease between his brows. No frown around his lips. His hair falls to the floor in a cascade of inky dark strands. 

Completely open as Lance touches him. Completely relaxed. Vulnerable and trusting. 

“I love you, you know.” Lance says it casually. A whisper into the calm of the room. Disappearing beneath the beat of the bass and the rise of the lyrics. 

Keith hears it, though. Opens his eyes again. Pinning Lance with a gaze that’s dark and beautiful as the midnight sky and just as soft. He can feel his smile beneath his thumb. Feels his breath against his fingers as he says, “I know.”

Lance’s smile quirks just a fraction wider, feels the amusement in the corners of his eyes as they narrow. “Did you just Hans Solo me?”

He feels Keith’s lips thin a little more as his smile grows. “Maybe.”

“I want to be offended, but honestly, I’m kind of proud.”

Keith’s grin is impossible to resist. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning down to press his lips to Keith’s, adoring the way Keith lifts his chin, tilting his head to meet him in a sweet kiss.

Somewhere beneath the music, Lance hears the door open, but he doesn’t register the sound for what it is until he hears Hunk’s voice.

“Lance! You guys ready to go-- _oh my god_.”

They both tear apart, Lance whipping his head up and Keith doing the same, pushing himself up onto an elbow, knees already curling toward him. Lance meets Hunk’s eyes, wide and round, jaw dropped and mouth working soundlessly, trying to form words that won’t come. His phone falls from his hand, clattering loudly to the floor. 

“ _OH MY GOD_.”

“ _Hunk!_ ” Lance says, voice cracking, loud and pitched high. 

“Dude, what’s up? Are they ready to-- _Jesus fucking--“_ ” Pidge walks around Hunk, stepping into the room, but barely gets a glance before Hunk’s hand clamps down over their eyes. His other hand slaps across his own eyes.

But it’s too late. They’re already screaming. 

_”What the fuck!_ ”

“Pidge!”

“Keith, I swear to _fuck_ \--“

“Lance, I can’t believe--”

“Oh my god--”

“My eyes!”

Lance finds himself already moving his body over Keith’s, out of reflex more than anything, trying to shield him from view. Preserve his decency in a situation where they no longer have any. “What are you guys _doing_ here?” He asks, voice still pitched far too high for his liking. 

“What are _we_ \-- what are _you_ doing?!” Hunk’s voice similarly jumps up an octave. 

“I can’t believe--“ Pidge is screaming, voice louder than the rest. Hunk’s hand is still firmly planted over their eyes, even as they bend down, reaching blindly for their own foot. 

“Oh my god--“ Keith is stuck between trying to hide beneath Lance and struggling to reach for his pants

“Why are you guys still _here?_ ” Lance manages to get out, voice cracking as he tries to get his pants pulled up without falling completely on top of Keith. 

“We came to see if you were ready to go--“

“Which obviously you’re _not_.” Pidge manages to wrestle off one of their shoes, rearing back to throw it blindly at them. “You fucking _nasties_.” It hits his leg before clattering off to the side. He yelps all the same

“Watch it!” Lance grabs for it before tossing it back, pleased when they both jump as it hits Pidge’s hip.

“Don’t throw things at me when I’ve been scarred and blinded!”

“Just get out!” Keith shouts, voice rising to join the rest of them. 

“I can’t believe--“

“Out!” 

Hunk turns, using his hand on Pidge’s face to turn them, pushing them out into the hall, keeping his back firmly to the room as he reaches behind him to shut the door. 

They’re quick to dress, haphazardly pulling their clothes back on, Lance having to jump several times before he’s able to catch hold of his shirt and pull it down, only stopping to look at each other once they’re done. Their gazes lock, movements slowing. Then all at once they’re laughing, bubbling and bright, bursting from them loud and unbidden. Their bodies shake with it, bending at the waist.

“Pidge’s gonna kill us.” He says when the laughter subsides, straightening and wiping the corner of his eye.

“I know.” Keith’s grin is bright and blinding.

Lance moves forward, hands at Keith’s waist to pull him close, ducking his head to press their foreheads together. Keith leans into it, arms wrapping around Lance’s back. “We’re gonna have to bribe them with milkshakes.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“Nope. Think we can make it out of here and to your bike before they can catch us?”

There’s a spark in Keith’s eye, one that has fire racing through Lance’s veins. His lips curl, grin turning sly. “Race you down the stairs?”

“You’re on.”

Bags slung over their shoulders, Keith grabs his hand, tugging him out the door. They sprint down the hall. Dipping into the stairwell as Pidge shouts after them. Laughter echoing throughout the confined space as they leap down two steps at a time. Jumping over the handrails. Flinging themselves the last few steps to land heavily at the bottom. 

And as they straighten, turning to share a glance, breathless and grinning, Lance can’t help but think about the first time they raced down the stairs and through the halls of the studio. 

And as he meets Keith’s eyes, sees the depths of color swirling there, dark and glistening, captivating and beautiful, he can feel his heart squeeze in his chest, skipping a beat and bruising his ribs. 

And as Keith’s smile turns a fraction shy, a hair more self conscious, peering up at him through his lashes as he grabs his hand again, tugging him out toward the parking lot, Lance can’t help how his expression softens, smile small but aching in his chest. 

He should have known they were bound to be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Thanks again to everyone for reading, as well as your amazing comments, kudos, and just being great readers in general. You guys have kept us chugging along during this monster of a story!
> 
> I'm also going to be working on a music video for this fic featuring all of the art Sora's done, so keep an eye out for that.
> 
>  **Photoset of the gang's Team Voltron outfits:** [on tumblr](http://wolfpainters.tumblr.com/post/169826528289/i-started-working-on-this-photoset-back-in) and [on twitter](https://twitter.com/wolfpainters/status/953769811120672768)
> 
> [SUADWM AMV on youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22Bbh9AwXdM), [tumblr](http://wittyy-name.tumblr.com/post/171774511371/shut-up-and-dance-with-me-amv-fanfic-link), and [twitter](https://twitter.com/WittyyName/status/972975949175296001)!!
> 
> Follow us on social media to keep up with what we're working on and for ways to support us!
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